


Small

by honeysweetcutie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Height Differences, Height Kink, Panic Attacks, Smut, Toxicity, Violence, hook ups, threw a bitch down a well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 112,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysweetcutie/pseuds/honeysweetcutie
Summary: Hermione is small. At only 160cm, she's always had to be brighter than everyone else. At 190cm, Malfoy towers over her and makes her feel out of control. When asking him for help awakens something inside of her she hadn't realized was there, her Eighth Year becomes very, very interesting. [Eighth Year][putting back up to protect against plagiarism]
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Trigger warnings: The theme in this story mentions a lot of Hermione wanting to feel "weightless and small," but it is not intended to be eating disordered. It is in reference to height. However, the way I wrote it could be comparable to ED thinking, so it may trigger you in that sense. If you are recovered or recovering or disordered, please read with caution for unintentional triggers.**

* * *

**Small**

**Chapter One - Ice**

O

**October 1998**

Hermione was afraid of feeling small.

She feared the bottomless pit that lay somewhere between the beginning of the war and the end of it. She feared the straying too close to the middle, lest she fall and continue to fall forever into the nothingness. Until all that was left of her accomplishments was the tiniest glimmer of a memory, faint in the back of the wizarding world's collective mind.

_Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age._

Her age.

Her age, because every decade eventually dwindled down until the next one began, and the next, and the next. And every decade that went by became the start of the possibility of a new Hermione Granger being born into the world.

She didn't want to be forgotten.

Or maybe it was just because she was so short. Maybe she was so short that if she didn't insert herself into time and make her mark, she would be crushed beneath the weight of eternity. Perhaps it was dramatic, but maybe she was just tired of being overlooked. Literally. Over the top of her head.

And so Hermione began her Eighth Year with the determination of making her mark on history with the highest marks she could possibly achieve. Not just her classes. No, she wanted every professor to remember her. She wanted to be inside of every aspect of the restoration of Hogwarts castle that she was at the top of the list of _Students Who Shall Be Named Helpful_. She wanted a wall of achievements, engraved in stone, with her name at the top of each and every one.

She just wasn't prepared for how it would feel to float somewhere in the middle.

"This just isn't correct," she said, tossing her brown curls over her shoulder. "The list is incorrect. You'll have to take it down."

"Eh?" Mr. Filch turned to look over one frail shoulder at her. He squinted down at her, as though she were difficult to see, and she hated it.

She wasn't invisible.

Hermione drew her shoulders back and stood to her full 160cm height. "I said, this isn't correct. It can't be."

"Ehh, I don't make the rules, girl," Mr. Filch said in his harsh, grating voice. He waved his hammer at her. "If you didn't make the top of the list, maybe you need to try harder!"

Hermione's indignation wrenched her jaw open. She gazed up at him in horror.

"The _insinuation_ -" she said, mind boggled. "The _insinuation_ that _I_ haven't done my absolute _best_ is - why, it's -"

Someone cut her off.

"The lists are written by Headmistress McGonagall herself, Hermione."

Hermione turned at the sound of the newcomer. It was Hannah Abbot. She held a shiny, red apple in one hand and her Potions textbook in the other. She offered Hermione a small smile.

"She probably wrote the names at random, " Hannah went on, peering at the lists on the wall outside the Great Hall. "I'm sure she knows that -"

"No," Hermione spluttered up at her, feeling the panic expanding like a bubble in the cage of her chest. "Headmistress McGonagall knows that I have been the head of the Hogwarts Restoration Committee since the beginning of the year. If it weren't for me, the Hufflepuff dorms would still be inhabitable. I -"

"I'm sure she knows that," Hannah said in a gentle tone, cutting her off. "I'm fairly certain she didn't think there needed to be any sort of order. It's just recognition lists for a job well done."

Hermione's brows met in a troubled expression as she turned back to face the wall. The other achievement and recognition lists stretched up as high as she could see - which wasn't very far - and her name was at the top of each one.

The _Heroic Acts in the Face of Danger_ list, where her name was above both Harry's and Ron's because everyone knew who was behind Harry's good fortune at the Battle of Hogwarts. The _Compassionate Acts of Magical Compassion_ list, where her name was sitting pretty atop a number of Seventh Years for helping reintroduce lost fae to the Forbidden Forest after they were displaced during the war. Her name was even the very first one on the _Most Studious Students_ list.

Granted, Hermione's was the only name on the list, but that was unimportant.

What mattered was that she was the number one witch on all lists except for the _Hogwarts Restoration Recognition_ list.

On this list, Hermione was number two. Right beneath Pansy Parkinson, who'd done nothing except throw parties for "progress celebration" every fortnight since October. If anyone belonged on the top of that list, it was Hermione. Hermione, who had spent every moment of her free time organizing, overseeing, and participating in the restoration efforts since September the 3rd.

She was going to have to work harder.

"It's that Pansy Parkinson," Hermione said, muttering under her breath and tapping her chin. "Everyone loves a party."

"Headmistress McGonagall?" Hannah said with a laugh around a bite of her apple. Her eyes sparkled with mirth beneath her blonde hair. "I highly doubt she has any interest in the parties."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a strange desperation at the sight of Filch toddling off with his hammer. She almost wanted to chase after him and demand he pull the _real_ list out of his pockets.

"Then everyone's voting for her," she said, whirling around in a flurry of robes and curls. "They must be!"

Hannah continued to laugh down in her direction, high-pitched giggles of incredulity falling from her lips like a song of amusement. "Hermione! They aren't polls or contests. They're just recognition lists. Anyone who helps gets their name put up. We aren't _voting_."

Hermione didn't believe her.

"Well, perhaps I just need to increase my exposure to the students," she said with a sniff. "I need to take on more roles. Merlin knows most of the students on this list don't actually _care_ about recognition. They just want the extra points Headmistress McGonagall offered to help with the restoration this year. _I_ , however, truly care about this school."

Hannah was still giggling, even as Hermione stomped away.

O

**November 1998**

She inserted herself in every part of the HRC.

It didn't matter what the task was. If it needed group members or assistance, Hermione joined it even though she was the head of the committee. She signed up to help with the Slytherin dungeons, the courtyard, the bridge, Hagrid's Hut, the greenhouse, the bottom floors, and the moving staircases.

Technically, as head, she was supposed to ensure that no one signed up for more than one section since there were so many volunteers. However, if she didn't start getting so involved that McGonagall saw her everywhere, she might keep putting her below the top of the lists.

It was in the Eighth Year common room, when Hermione was looking over the sign-up sheets for the sections, that she noticed there was one section with a name crossed out. The library. Since there had only been two people in that section in the first place, that left only one person working on the clean-up.

Draco Malfoy.

She frowned. Well, now that just wouldn't do. Malfoy was on parole and was not allowed to use his wand unless he was in class. That was common knowledge all over the school. If he was working on the library by himself, that meant he was putting the books back on the shelves by hand. And how was he supposed to put the broken stacks back together?

No, no. This wouldn't do at all.

As uncomfortable as it would be to be alone with him for any extended period of time, Hermione couldn't let the library suffer because . . . She peered closer at the crossed-out name . . . Seamus Finnegan had decided not to do his part.

Shaking her head, Hermione took her quill and signed her name beneath Seamus's scrawling. When she was done, she went to put the sheet back on the wall. Lifting herself onto the tips of her toes to reach the spot, she strained her left arm to push the pin in. Then, she took out her wand and tapped it thrice against the sheet.

 _There,_ she said. _That should make the sheets in the other common rooms reflect the change._

Working on the restoration with Malfoy would be . . . Interesting. But he'd avoided her all year. Since she'd spoken on his behalf at his trial, perhaps he would even deign to be polite.

One could only hope.

O

Hermione walked into the library with her nose in the air.

It was her best defense against Malfoy, should he decide to rip into her the moment he saw her. What if he hadn't seen the sign-up sheet? What if he'd been bringing his mates in to hang around and do nothing? Or worse: what if they were lounging about, drinking Firewhiskey around the books?

That thought filled her with a spot of rage. If she discovered that he was utilizing the library's space, defiling the sanctity of it with the risk of damaging hundreds of years of historical text . . .

She sped up, nearly racing through the mixture of upright and toppled stacks to locate his platinum-haired head. She was already seething. She could see it now: him and Theo Nott, tipping bottles onto ancient tomes; Pansy ripping pages and letting them flutter out all over the floor; Blaise Zabini casting _incendio_ on whiskey-soaked books just to watch them burn.

 _Not on my watch_.

Hermione's hands balled into fist as she came to the furthest corner of the library, stepping over piles of discarded books that were in the carpeted walkway.

There he was. In the furthest corner, by the Herbology section. He had a stack of books piled up beside him the height of his chest. He was pulling them off one by one and checking their spines before placing them on the empty shelf before him. His robes were discarded on a clean table behind him, and the sleeves of his black button-up were rolled up to his elbows. His chin-length hair was scraped back on top of his head, but stray strands of it seemed to keep flopping forward.

Hermione froze in place, her gaze scanning the area.

It looked like he'd gotten three entire sections done. She could see that they were neat and orderly, from top to bottom. The table and chairs were righted as well, and there was a massive pile of books to the right of her that was separate from the one he had beside him.

She cleared her throat.

He didn't turn around.

"After you punched me," he said, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I haven't done that since Third Year. But if you'd like me to do it again, I could be convinced."

With one hand still putting a book on the shelf, Malfoy's head twisted around to look at her. Hermione saw a flicker of surprise in his grey eyes and then it faded into a blank expanse that she couldn't read. His other hand came up to comb his hair back.

"Granger," he said by way of greeting. "Come to rescue me from indentured servitude and send me to a new section?"

Hermione frowned, putting her hands on her hips over her robes. "The restoration is a volunteer-based program, Malfoy."

"Hn," was his response.

Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth, following the movements of his forearms as he picked each book up and set it gently on the shelf. She was glad that her fears hadn't come true, but she was curious about what he'd just said.

"And who punched you?" she asked, taking a step closer. "You should report them."

Not turning to face her, he let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, because when it's me against Seamus Finnegan, it makes sense that he struck me unprovoked."

Hermione grimaced. "It's Seamus, so . . . It actually makes quite a bit of sense. He's always had a temper."

"You always were an optimistic, Granger."

Hermione wandered closer, dropping her satchel onto the tabletop. She walked around the edge of it. "In any case, I'm here to help you. I saw that Seamus had . . . Unvolunteered, so I signed up to help since you're . . . You know . . ."

"On parole?"

"Um . . . Yes." She moved until she was beside the stack of books. It reached his chest now, and was the exact same height as Hermione. "And this is an awful large stack of books. You shouldn't have to do it without magic."

He looked down at her. As she tilted her head back to keep eye contact, an errant thought crossed her mind.

_He's actually quite tall._

"You don't have to act awkward about it," he said, eyes searching hers. "The only reason why I'm on parole is because of you."

Hermione started to speak, but found herself suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that she was alone in the library with Draco Malfoy. She'd never been alone with him. Their previous interactions had always been in groups, when he was decidedly less calm. He was usually hurling insults, not standing here studying her like a potion brewing in a cauldron.

He really was rather tall.

Swallowing against the sudden, strange lump in her throat, Hermione lifted her chin in a haughty manner.

"Right," she said, withdrawing her wand from the inside of her robes. "Well, I've got my wand, so I can use it to get the books on the shelves. You could bring them to me and stack them like this to make it easier for me?"

Malfoy shrugged and walked over to the pile of books behind her. As he passed, a rush of air greeted her nostrils with the scent of his cologne. She breathed in. How curious.

He smelled of spearmint.

She began to cast the charms for levitation and organization, her wand doing all the work. She cast a couple of glances in Malfoy's direction. He was grabbing stacks of ten or so books, bringing them back over, and then returning to grab more. They worked in silence for a solid twenty minutes.

Hermione marveled at the situation. This was unheard of. The two of them, working together to restore the library, of all places. Even more interesting to her was the fact that the silence was not uncomfortable for her. She wasn't sure how it felt for him, but as he seemed entirely focused on toting the books back and forth, it didn't seem to be on his mind at all.

Somewhere along the years, Hermione had forgotten that Malfoy was an actual living, breathing human being. She felt poorly for that.

"I'm surprised you started in the Herbology section," Hermione said as they made their way right, along the back wall of the library.

"Why?" he asked, breathless from the back and forth. He piled some more books beside her. Her charms immediately picked them up, shuffled them, and sent them onto the shelf.

"You just . . . Don't seem like you like to read."

He stopped by the book pile and shot her a weird look. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Hermione paused, her wand held aloft. "No?"

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then he dropped down to pick up some more books. "Granger, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're the most intelligent _witch_ at Hogwarts." He set the books beside her, on top of the pile, and looked down at her. "Not the most intelligent of _all_."

She nodded slowly. She supposed she was guilty of not looking at anyone else's marks. "So you do like to read?"

"Yes," he said with a heavy sigh, pausing with his hands on his hips to catch his breath. "I do like to read. But me liking to read has nothing to do with where I started when I began putting the books on the shelves." He waved a dismissive hand. "I started in Herbology because it's the furthest from the door. Since Finnegan up and quit, it seemed like the most organized way to do things if I was going to have to do them myself."

"Ah," Hermione said, waving her wand again. The rest of the books in her pile flew to the shelves.

She paused for a second. He didn't seem like he didn't want to talk, but he also seemed a little irritated. She didn't know if it was irritation at her or at Seamus. What she did know was that Malfoy _was_ a human being and he _did_ have interests and hobbies. And if they were going to work on this for the rest of the year, they might as well get to know one another.

"What books do you like?" she asked.

He shot her a wary look.

Maybe he didn't feel the same about getting to know one another. It would make sense, since he'd spent the better part of seven years ensuring that he didn't think she was on the same level as him. During the war, he'd definitely shown that he did not agree with the Dark Lord's ideals, but he hadn't exactly stepped forward to stop his aunt from carving into Hermione's flesh that night in the Manor.

The corners of her lips tugged downward. She'd almost - intentionally - forgotten about that.

She didn't like to think about it.

As he returned with another pile of books, she couldn't help herself. She glanced down at his forearm.

His Mark was still there, faded as though with age. It looked the same as it always had, the snake crawling out of the skull's mouth as though it wanted to slither down to wrap around his wrist. Only now, it seemed to lack that ominous, oppressive atmosphere that it'd had when the Dark Lord was alive.

He didn't notice her looking, or if he did, he didn't say anything.

After a couple seconds of silence, he replied to her.

"I prefer to read books on mythology," he said upon an exhalation of breath. "Greek, Norse, Roman, and Japanese are my favorites. I find them romantic, in a way."

Surprise widened Hermione's eyes. "Really? That's . . . Fascinating."

The ghost of a smirk played about his lips. He paused beside her, looking down into her face. "Which part? The fact that I find them romantic, or the fact that I like to read?"

Sheepish, Hermione lowered her gaze for a second. "I find it fascinating that you like mythology. Consequently, I enjoy reading about Greek mythology myself."

The smirk on his face went from ghostlike to real. "Amongst other things, yeah?"

She pursed her lips, feeling her haughtiness returning full force. "Yes, actually. I enjoy reading all books. I don't exactly have a preference. Excuse me for thinking you preferred to read . . ." She gave him a scathing once-over. "Darker texts."

He placed one hand atop the stack of books, his fingers inches away from her temple. She glanced to the side and saw that he wore silver and black rings on his knuckles. When her gaze rose, she saw with a jumping heart that he was glowering down at her.

"Just because I made some poor choices when I was a kid, doesn't mean I enjoy reading books about the Dark Arts," he said. He sounded angry.

"I thought your family was known for having a library full of Dark texts!" Hermione cried, wanting to defend herself at least a little bit. "Your father made it quite clear to the _Prophet_ multiple times that the Malfoy Manor had the largest collection in wizarding Britain!"

She hadn't expected any of this; she'd expected Malfoy to be a right prat the moment she entered the library. Instead, he was just a quiet man who seemed genuine in his desire to help fix the school.

"What does my _father_ have to do with what I choose to read?" Malfoy's upper lip curled as he pulled his head back on his shoulders. "I _can_ think for myself, you know."

Hermione scoffed, feeling flustered. She lowered her wand and turned to face him. "I never said that you couldn't! I just remember you being very attached to your father and his opinion. In spite of what a poor father he was, you seemed to look up to him. You -"

"Watch your mouth," he snapped, and the polite tone he'd been using had completely burned up like a meteor streaking across the sky. Where he had once seemed tall, he now towered over her like a tree topped with white leaves. "My father was interested in some fucked up things, but that doesn't mean that he was a poor father. As I said, I made some poor choices. _I_ made them. And I wouldn't be here, putting these bloody books away if I didn't have at least some semblance of a heart."

Lucius Malfoy. He was in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Before this very moment, Hermione hadn't thought of Lucius as a human being, either. But now, looking up into Malfoy's eyes, she could see in them the pain of a son who'd lost his father.

She felt awful, and yet she didn't at the same time. She understood that he had a heart, but she had always had a heart. He'd just picked his up last year.

"I'm sorry that you lost him," she said, looking at his back. "I'm sorry that he let you down. However, I feel that if you hadn't bought into the circle of hatred that he perpetuated, then I wouldn't be in a place where I can make assumptions about the things you read. I'm not -" She stopped herself. She wanted to say, _like you_ , but she didn't want to make things worse by bringing up the past even more. "- trying to upset you, but you can't blame me for thinking you preferred Dark texts."

"Can you just fucking stop?"

Hermione blinked and shot him a sharp look. His tone was edged like a knife's blade.

"Excuse me?" she said. "I only meant to -"

"Just stop talking about my damn father!" he suddenly yelled, whirling on her.

Hermione's mouth slammed shut. He'd never yelled at her before. Never, in all of their experiences with him as the antagonist, had he ever raised his voice. She didn't know how to feel about it.

She just knew that she'd better do as he asked.

The silence stretched between them, as thick as wool. They didn't move. He remained where he was, positioned beside the pile of books with his arms crossed. Hermione stayed beside the bookshelf, her wand held down at her side and the opposite hand curved around her upper arm.

She was a Gryffindor, but that didn't mean she was insusceptible to awkwardness.

"I get that I hurt you," he eventually said, holding his hands up in the air. There were rings on his other fingers, too. "I get that I was a prat. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to hurt you. But two wrongs don't make a right. I'm not a bloody block of ice."

Hermione stared at him, her heart racing. She'd never been faced with this before. No one had ever called her out like this, and she had never thought of herself as a bully. Yet here she was, and she _was_ the bully.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't -"

He scowled, and the vehemence of the noise cut her off. It was at this very moment that Hermione remembered that she had never been alone with Malfoy before. She'd never faced his distaste for her down without Harry and Ron flanking her sides.

She felt small.

"Don't apologize to me," he spat out, sounding bitter as he glowered at the floor between them and threw his hands about. "I'm not imbecilic. I'm aware that I treated you like shite. I'm aware that I probably made your life Hell for years and I'm aware that when you were on my fucking floor, I . . ." He trailed off suddenly, and pushed his hands backward through his hair. "Fuck, just - Nevermind."

Hermione felt like she was having trouble breathing. She knew what he was about to bring up.

She didn't understand why it mattered to him.

"I'm sorry for everything, all right?" he said in a quick rush of words. "Never apologize to me, Granger. Just don't expect me to melt anytime soon."

The ground was quivering beneath her. Any second, and it would open up to swallow her whole. She would tumble through darkness with no one to catch her. She couldn't tell if she was mortified, felt bad, or if it was a mixture of both.

"Let's get back to work," he said, muttering, and he did just that.

Whatever had been in the air that caused them to act amiably around one another had dissipated. Hermione couldn't make eye contact with him for the rest of the evening. Later, when they were done for the night, he left abruptly.

She walked back to the Gryffindor common room alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Small**

**Chapter Two - Nice**

O

**December 1998**

There was a Christmas party in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione wasn't on board with it, but everyone else on the HRC was. It was the most clear-cut case of political upheaval that she'd ever been made witness to. It was as though everyone had mutually agreed within seconds that Hermione was The Worst. She'd been outvoted.

Being who she was, though, she wasn't going to miss the chance to clean up the mess afterward. If any of the Eighth and Seventh Year students who attended destroyed any part of that room, Hermione would be right there to dock points and assign them to the restoration of the Sixth Floor loo.

 _No one_ wanted that job.

"Are you going to that Christmas party tonight?" she asked Malfoy when they were working on fixing up the Dimensional Magic section of the library.

"I might," he said, his tone curt.

They hadn't exactly spoken since the row, and Hermione wasn't so sure he wanted to speak to her. But it just felt silly for them to work on this task in complete silence, especially when it was clear that she'd hurt his feelings in some way. He'd done his fair share of painful things when they were younger, but Hermione was nothing if not compassionate.

Forgiveness could eventually be at hand, but for now, she just wanted civility.

"I won't be," she said, putting her nose up in the air as she waved her wand to put the books to rights. "I find parties shallow and trite. But I _will_ be there to clean up whatever disaster is left behind. Merlins knows no one else but me is willing to do it."

He snorted.

"What?" Her gaze snapped to him where he stood, at the end of the stack.

He was placing books onto the shelf by hand, so when he leaned down to grab some more, Hermione had half a mind to charm the books to be heavier. As he stood straight, tall, and looming, he smirked over at her.

"You _would_ find them so."

"I'll have you know that attending a party at the end of the first school term for any reason - be it celebratory, or for a holiday - is irresponsible. We have exams next week!"

He shook his head.

"You don't care about your exams?" she said, shocked.

Malfoy picked up a few more books, not looking at her. As she studied him, Hermione was struck by how casually he was dressed. Today he wore naught but a black jumper with the sleeves pushed up and a pair of black trousers, instead of the suits she was used to seeing him in. The clothing wasn't _exactly_ Muggle, but it gave him the appearance of a "normal" student, rather than the prim and proper student he'd been before the war.

She supposed therein lay the problem: _before_.

"My marks don't matter, Granger," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "My prospects after graduation don't exactly scream positive."

Hermione frowned. She didn't know what to say to that. Her first reaction was to want to remind him that it was his fault. That he'd chosen the wrong side, and that he was reaping what he'd sown. However, that wasn't the type of person she was at heart. She pitied him and the fact that she'd spoken at his trial had given herself a lot of insight into his side of the story.

When she was on her back beneath Bellatrix's wand, the only thing that kept her mouth sewn shut was the privilege she'd had to be sorted into a House that put her on the right path.

If she'd been sorted somewhere else, could she really say she wouldn't have made some of the same choices Malfoy had?

Lost in thought, she didn't notice that he was standing beside her until she felt his fingers brushing her forearm through the sleeve of her white uniform shirt.

Hermione jumped, gasping. She looked up, tilting her head back. She tried to step away, but her foot caught on the books that were piled up at her feet. She gave a nervous titter. He seemed to take up all of the available space in her vision, like a dark sentinel with pale white fire for hair.

"Huh," Malfoy said, his brows twitching together. "You're a lot shorter up close, aren't you?"

Why would he feel the need to mention that?

"What did you need, Malfoy?"

"I said, I'm leaving. It's almost 8:00PM." He glanced down at the watch that ringed his wrist. "If I'm going to make it to that irresponsible, shallow, trite party on time, then I need to leave."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Was he making that comment in jest, or was he mocking her?

"Very well," she said, spinning to face the stacks again. "I want to finish this section, though. I'll be along when it's over."

"To do what? Find a way to take points away from everyone?"

"Yes," Hermione said, giving him a once-over look. "So, I would warn your friends, if I were you."

He lingered there for a moment, his shadow casting an even darker one in the dim lighting of the library. Hermione felt like the side of her body that was facing him was prickling, like it was moving and shifting with something she didn't understand.

Suddenly, he gave a low, mirthless laugh.

" _What_ friends?"

By the time she turned to look up at him, he was already walking away.

O

Hermione waited until the party was scheduled to end.

Once it was nearly time, she put the last of the books onto the shelf, and then headed out to the corridor.

She felt poorly for the conversation with Malfoy, and she wasn't sure why. She hadn't said anything hurtful that she could think of. Neither had he, but there was still a feeling of discomfort tangled in the lowest recesses of her belly. It told her that yes, she had done something wrong.

 _I didn't mean to remind him that he doesn't have any friends anymore,_ she thought as she trudged to the moving staircase room. _I don't know why he would want to go to a party if he has no mates to go with, anyway._

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt. She'd been working on the library with Malfoy for over one month now and even though they never exchanged much more than tense hellos and goodbyes, she felt like he didn't deserve to be completely _friendless_. He wasn't a cruel person anymore. He'd had her completely alone and he hadn't taken any jabs at her, nor had he tried to attack her.

That had to count for something, right?

 _Maybe I can try talking to him more,_ she thought as she took the stairs up to the fifth floor. _I don't have to be his friend, and I'm not sure if I could after everything that's happened, but . . . I could try being kind._

There was a large crowd of students lingering on the landing as she neared. Most of them ignored her, but some of the Slytherin girls gave her snide looks. Hermione kept her chin held high as she pushed through, announcing herself as though she were the queen so they understood that she had arrived.

"The Room of Requirement had better look pristine when I get in there!" she called, raising one finger over her head.

"It's as pristine as your bumhole," one girl said to her friends, and then it seemed like the entire gaggle of students dissolved into immature laughter.

Hermione stopped and whirled around to face them, her glare hot enough to wither flower petals. "Do you always bully the people who save your arses? Or am I the only one?"

A few of the girls exchanged glances, but it was one of the Seventh Year boys who responded.

"It's just you, Granger," he said with a smirk, his green eyes glittering from underneath a full head of brown hair. "Now that your bodyguards are off at the Ministry, you're easy prey. What are you, one meter tall?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, feeling so offended that she didn't even possess the wherewithal to take points away for insubordination. She was a Prefect, so first and foremost, they weren't allowed to speak to her that way.

He let out a derisive laugh and then spoke in a taunting tone. "Did the Golden Trio decide to become a Golden Duo because you were dragging them down with all your books? Is that why it took you all year to kill the Dark Lord? You were looking up the answers?"

He actually sounded so much like Malfoy used to sound that it put everything into perspective for her regarding how much he had changed.

"What is your name?" she asked, her brows furrowing in anger. She could see that there was a Ravenclaw badge on the lapel of his blazer, which further disturbed her. She'd never had any issues with a Ravenclaw before.

"Sebastien Selwyn."

Hermione racked her brain. Where had she heard that name before?

It clicked.

Xenophilius Lovegood's home. He'd been tortured by a Death Eater with a rough voice. Selwyn. He was one of the Sacred 28.

Was this his son?

She studied him. "I'm taking 50 points from Ravenclaw for this. If you talk to me like that again, I'll go straight to Headmistress McGonagall."

As she spoke, the threat of losing House points caused the students that had been leering on the landing to scatter. They piled onto the staircase and floated away, leaving Hermione and Sebastien alone in the corridor. Behind her, the empty wall that would reveal the door to the Room of Requirement waited.

For now, Hermione would handle this.

"Go to McGonagall," he challenged, his eyes flashing in a menacing manner. "I would gladly go down for _crucio_ ing the Mudblood who put my father in Azkaban. Just because the Dark Lord lost, doesn't mean I have to accept your kind now. You're so small, I bet you'd snap after one round."

Okay, _that_ was unexpected.

Horrified, Hermione took several steps back, reaching for her wand. She pulled it from her uniform sleeve and aimed it at him. She was not usually the type to get scared of wizards, but something about the way Sebastien spoke terrified her. As though he truly didn't care how much trouble he got in, as long as he got the chance to feel an Unforgivable burning her from the tip of his wand.

"I can assure you, Sebastien Selwyn," she said, threading notes of strength into her voice. "I can last _many_ more rounds than just one. My height is the most inconsequential thing about me. If you try, I will turn your blood to sand and watch you dehydrate in this corridor."

With one final sneer, Sebastien inclined his head in a mock bow, turned, and took the next staircase.

Fingers trembling, Hermione slipped her wand up into her sleeve and headed for the wall. The door opened, and then she stepped inside.

It was a disaster.

It looked like a Christmas tornado had blown through the room. There was food and trash strewn about the floor, twinkling lights that had fallen from the ceiling, decorated trees everywhere that had been toppled . . . Hermione's brain short-circuited just from looking at it.

And the worst part was that the group of students that she'd encountered on the landing had been the last of the attendees. The only way she was taking points away for this would be to take them away from the HRC members, and they were all gone, too.

Except for one person.

Draco Malfoy was slowly making his way around the room, picking up trash and tossing it into a small rubbish bin. He glanced over at her as he did so, nodding to her in greeting. As if she were just any other student.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, her voice somewhat garbled from both the shock of her encounter with Sebastien, and the sight of him cleaning the mess up.

"I didn't want you to have to clean it all up by yourself," he said with a flippant shrug. "It was . . . Hectic in here, and the second it was over, everyone started leaving."

Hermione watched him for a solid minute.

He'd done this for _her_ sake?

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Malfoy said, his voice cutting into her thoughts again. "I said I was here to help, not to do it for you."

Hermione jolted out of her reverie and sprung into action. She reached for her wand, but stopped. If Draco wasn't allowed to use his wand, then the least Hermione could do was clean by hand, too. She conjured up a small stepladder, stuck her wand into the hidden pocket in the sleeve of her jumper, and then she took it off. It left her in her white uniform shirt.

 _I can clean up like a normal person,_ she told herself. _There's no need to use magic for_ everything _._

The cleaning commenced.

They worked in silence, Draco handling the rubbish and Hermione dealing with the boughs of holly that were decorating the walls. She started to the right of the door and made her way around the entire room. Moving the little ladder every so often, she allowed herself to become focused and lost in the humdrum of routine.

Getting onto the ladder, pulling the boughs down, getting down from the ladder, and bringing the holly to the small pile she was creating in one part of the floor, and then doing it all over again.

It was when she got to the door that she ran into a major problem.

There were holly boughs curved along the top of the archway, hanging down the sides. The issue, however, was that the ends were just a little too far out of reach. She tried to jump, but the stepladder rattled so much that her stomach lurched with vertigo. Not good.

She glanced over her shoulder, where she'd set her jumper down on the floor. Holding her hand out, she prepared to _accio_ her wand.

"Do you need help?"

Hermione cried out in surprise, nearly toppling off of the stepladder. A hand flat on her lower back, pressing gently, pushed her to rights again. She felt a chill running up the length of her spine, fanning out from where the fingers brushed.

Malfoy was standing right beside her. Even with her standing on the stepladder, he was still an inch or two taller than her. "Well?"

She blinked up at him. His hand was still on her back. He looked calm. Much calmer than she felt.

"Oh, I can just . . ." She trailed off, searching his eyes.

This close, they weren't just one color. They were like molten silver, with little flecks of lighter and darker greys mixed together. They were a lot more expressive than she'd noticed before, peering out at her from underneath dark brows with a soft arch. His jawline was sharp, his nose long and slender, and his lips - they were full. His platinum blonde hair was short around the sides of his head, but the top was long and tousled, folding over in a way that showed her he had a fringe when he didn't push it back.

 _When did_ that _happen?_ she thought as she stared at him with words trapped in her traitorous throat. _When did he get so . . . Lush?_

"You can just what?" he said, his voice seeming too quiet for such a large room.

"I need help," she blurted out, even though she knew she could _accio_ the wand. She jerked her head to the holly above. "With the - with the you know, the holly."

"The holly," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I'm too -"

"- Short?"

She felt her cheeks flaring with heat, which they never did, and she nodded.

"Why didn't you just say so, Granger? Do you need me to lift you up?"

Before she could stop herself, her head was bobbing up and down in a nod.

His hand was slid along her back to her hip. Her heart raced and her mind screamed at her that this was _completely_ unnecessary, but something took the words and suffocated them in her mind. His other hand curved around her other hip, and then he was behind her. She felt his breath stirring her long curls, and then he was lifting her up into the air.

 _Merlin's beard,_ Hermione thought as a strange squeak left her lips.

His fingers were slender and firm against her skin, pressing into her flesh in a way that made her feel diminutive. Breakable. Like if he wanted to, he could throw her over his shoulder and carry her somewhere no one else could find her. She felt slight, inconsequential, miniature, and every form of the word, and she didn't mind.

Her stomach twisted.

It twisted up tight, like a spring coil, and there was only one reason why that would be occurring.

With frantic speed and fingers that quivered, she pulled the holly down.

"O-Okay," she whispered. "You can put me - me down. Now. Just - yeah."

He set her onto the floor, right next to the footstool, and she was back at chest level again. She swallowed, feeling nervous sweat prickling on the back of her neck. Because this was Malfoy - ex-Death Eater on _parole_ Malfoy - and she had _no business_ feeling _anything_ when his hands were on her.

She didn't know the first thing about him. She knew nothing about what he'd done after Dumbledore died, beyond the events that had taken place at the Manor the day the Snatchers brought them in. When she'd spoken for him at his trial, it was only regarding those events. She didn't know if he was evil, bad, or just a scared boy who made all the wrong choices.

What she did know was that the way he was looking down at her right now was anything but helpful.

"Thank you," she said, and she cleared her throat. "I meant, perhaps, _you_ pulling the holly down . . . Since you're tall. But I mean, I could have just _accio_ ed my - my wand."

He glanced down at the holly in her hands. "Yeah. You could have."

"I could have."

"But you didn't."

"I did . . . I did not." She took a shaky breath and then, without further preamble, marched to the holly pile.

As she walked, she felt her lungs constricting with anxiety, or nerves. Whichever it was, she felt like her palms were clammy and her knees had gone weak. She almost felt dizzy. The fact that Draco Malfoy, of all the possible wizards on Earth, had just made her feel so strangefrom merely lifting her up blew her mind. It was the same feeling she'd had riding on the back of the Thestral in her Fifth year.

She felt like she just wanted to touch the ground again.

Hermione decided right then and there that she no longer cared about fairness. She wanted the Room of Requirement clean, and she wanted to get back to her room.

Grabbing her jumper, she withdrew her wand and waved it. Within seconds, the entire room was clean, and she felt like a fool. If she would have just used her wand in the first place, she could have saved herself the time, the energy, and the embarrassment.

"Thanks for the help," she said in a tight, narrow voice as they stood in the center of the rather large room. _Even though I could have done it in seconds with my wand. Even though this whole past hour has been completely unnecessary._

"Yeah." He pushed his fringe to the side, and her eyes tracked the movements.

Everything he did seemed so . . . Smooth. Fluid. Like every move had purpose, like he knew what he meant to do before he did it. He'd always been this way. She knew that he'd always been this way.

 _How quickly arrogance turned into confidence,_ she thought, _over the years._

"So, I'll . . . See you on Monday? In Advanced Potions?" she said.

He gave her a nod. "Monday."

With that, they left the room. The moment the door closed behind them, it vanished, and the wall was smooth once again. They stood there, awkward. Hermione played with a button on her blouse; Draco pulled the sleeves of his jumper down onto his hands.

Hermione had to know.

"How tall are you, anyway?" she asked.

"190cm. I dunno," he said, eyes scanning the length of her body. "Why?"

Something inside of Hermione seemed to expand inside of her, like a bubble within the cage of her chest. The corridor had gone from cold and large, to hot and confined. Maybe it was the fact that he towered, or maybe it was the fact that she was just so much shorter than him. Either way, she could still feel his fingers against her, as though she hadn't even been wearing a shirt.

 _He could do_ so _many things to me . . ._

"No reason," she breathed, averting her eyes. "Potions class."

"Mhm."

His hum reverberated throughout her entire body.

It was time to go.

She backed away, pivoted on her left foot, and walked around the corner. She moved as fast as she could to the portrait, as though he were right on her heels. The moment she reached the golden frame, realization hit her like a stray Bludger.

In his arms, she'd felt small and she hadn't even felt scared.

O

Hermione had a nice Christmas.

Her parents were still in Australia, living in bliss and unaware that they had an eighteen-year-old daughter attending wizarding school in Scotland. She hadn't known where to go, it being only her second Christmas without them, so she'd sent Harry an owl to ask him what he was doing.

She'd known the answer before he even replied.

The Burrow.

And so Hermione, even though she and Ron weren't exactly on the best terms since the unfortunate three-minute-long Virginity Loss incident, followed by multiple horrible sexual encounters that Summer, agreed to join Harry for one more Christmas at the Burrow.

Oh, and it was lovely enough. Three days of Molly's delicious cooking, warm hugs, and sparkling smiles were enough to make the awkwardness of being Ron's Witch bearable.

Harry and Ron were doing well at the Ministry, each settling into the Auror internships well. Harry was gunning for Junior Auror early, but Ron was content where he was. Both were eager to hear what had been going on at Hogwarts and while Hermione left out the strange, disturbing encounter she'd had with Sebastien Selwyn, she didn't mind telling them about the HRC and the renovations.

On Christmas Eve, she even told them that she was working with Malfoy.

"With _Malfoy_?" Ron exclaimed with his arm tightening around her shoulders. It felt heavy and out of place. With the fire crackling in the living room hearth, it felt like it was too hot. "You're fixing up the library with _that_ tosser?"

Harry's eyebrows had shot up. "Alone?"

Hermione then shrugged. "I guess Seamus and him had it out, and Seamus dropped out of the task. I had to step in if I was going to be able to make sure the library got completed on time. I would like to have it done before June."

They didn't know that she'd been thinking about Malfoy's hands on her waist for days, and they didn't need to know. Especially not Ron. He was her wizard, after all.

"That's bloody stupid, Hermione!" Ron said, looking at her in incredulity. "You're risking your life to fix the library for some dusty, old books?"

Hermione's heart had stung at that. She loved her friends, she really did, but Ron had a tendency to be unknowingly cruel. And given the things that Sebastien had said to her in the corridor before Christmas, it was a little difficult not to put two-and-two together. She didn't want to believe him - knew he couldn't possibly know anything about her friendship with Harry and Ron - but when Ron said things like that?

It hurt.

"I'm not risking my life, Ronald," she huffed, wishing his arm was not around her. "Malfoy is - he's really rather . . . Kind."

The entire house seemed to still. Arthur and Molly, who were playing cards at the table, stared at her. George, who was at the piano, shot her a strange look. Ginny, seated on the floor between Harry's knees while reading the newest issue of _Witch Weekly_ , raised her eyebrows. Harry gaped at her.

Ron blew up.

" _Bloody Hell, Hermione! Have you gone mental?! Kind? Malfoy's not kind! He's a ferret! A bloody ferret! And I'll not have him putting his hands all over my girlfriend like she's some - some bloody fucking trollop!"_

Hermione felt her anxiety rising in her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. She closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears that wanted to come forth. Her mind flashed with images of the war, with memories that she didn't want to replay. She didn't like being yelled at. It reminded her of -

Bellatrix and the _cutting_ and the screaming and the _pain_. Oh, the terrible pain, just burning, burning, burning through her veins like - like _acid -_

Her scar itched.

"Ronald - Bilius - Weasley!" Molly shrieked, rising to her feet. "You _will not_ use that language in _my home_. Up to your room! This instant! _This instant_!"

Ron scowled and stormed up the stairs, disappearing.

Hermione, who was shaking on the couch, couldn't seem to lift her eyes from the carpet. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She'd never been this weak or felt this small. She didn't like it.

The couch shifted as Harry sat down beside her, reaching for her hand. Hermione yanked it away, shooting him an apologetic glance.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "This has never happened before."

"Ron yelling?" he said, grinning. "Come, 'Mione. You can't tell me you think _that's_ new."

She started to laugh, even as a tear spilled down her cheek.

"Now, now," Molly said, coming to sit on the other side of her. She wiped the tear away with her thumb, which made Hermione feel even worse about the way she didn't feel for Ron. "Ronald is just a little overbearing sometimes. He has a bit of a temper, dear. No need to shed a single tear."

"Forgive me," Hermione said, and she gave Molly a small, tentative smile.

"Here."

Ginny stood in front of her, holding a glass of water out to her. Hermione took it, giving her a smile as well.

"My brother's a cow," George said from the piano. "Don't listen to him."

Hermione laughed, even as another tear fell. "Perhaps it's best I go to speak with him."

"Good idea," Harry said, and he patted Hermione's back. "And for the record, none of us knows Malfoy like you probably do now. If you say he's kind now, I believe you. I don't think I'll be running back to Hogwarts to shake hands with him, or anything, but if you for some reason end up becoming his friend, then we can talk about it, yeah?"

Hermione wiped under her eyes with her thumbs and smiled at everyone.

"Thank you, all of you. I'm sorry to disrupt the evening." She stood up to go. "I'll see you in the morning. Happy Christmas."

After everyone had returned their goodnights, Hermione made her way up the stairs with a heavy heart.

O

Ron was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He was still angry.

Hermione felt her nerves trembling again. She hated this feeling. It was unknown to her, chaotic in the way it upset the balance of familiarity that she'd managed to drum up over the course of her life. Hermione had always liked the things she knew, and she liked learning the things that she could understand.

She didn't understand why Ron was so angry.

Red in the face, he glared at her the moment she closed the bedroom door behind her.

"It's a betrayal, is what it is," he muttered.

"What is?" she asked, knowing that when it came to him and his anger, she had to tread carefully.

"The fact that you would become _mates_ with the enemy," he spat, looking her up and down as though she were repulsive. "That fact that you would think that that _ferret_ could be anything close to kind really shows how _smart_ you are."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but felt like she couldn't. Not without making everything worse. Standing up to students at school was one thing, but Ron was first and foremost one of her best friends. She didn't want to work him up into a frenzy that there was no coming back from.

She made her way to the bed and sat down beside him.

"I was only stating that he's changed," she said, reaching for his arm. "That's all."

"Changed? _Changed_?" He shrugged her hand off of him, glowering down at her. "He hasn't changed. He's probably faking it just to - to get into your knickers, or something." He sneered at the floor, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. "Don't know why he'd want into _your_ knickers, anyway. All the years he's spent telling you how much he despises you."

The words lashed against her so painfully that she flinched.

"Don't talk to me like that, Ronald," she said, unable to contain her own ire. She crossed her arms over her chest and held his gaze. "I'm not a trollop, and I'm not an imbecile. If that's what he wanted, I'm certain that I'd know it."

"Of course you're not a trollop," Ron said. "We haven't had sex in months."

Hermione nearly lost her temper. That was too far. "That's not my fault! I'm at school; you're living at home and working at the Ministry!"

"Oh, and what about the last time, then? Right before the school year started?"

Images flashed before her mind's eyes, and she almost winced.

Hermione and Ron had slept together exactly six times. Six passably meager times that involved little to no pleasure and usually ended up leaving Hermione feeling sore in her lower body for days. Ron was terrible at it, to say the least, and he didn't seem to understand her body's cues for discomfort. When he touched her, she was almost never wet, and he didn't seem to notice.

She felt awful, since he seemed to fancy her so much.

And the last time they'd slept together? The _worst_. He'd chafed her so badly that she bled. It was her fault for not saying anything. But as strong as Hermione was before the war, after it she was just broken pieces sewn together with cobwebs. She didn't want to tell Ron that her feelings for him weren't as strong as she thought they were. She didn't want to tell him that she didn't love him, and that he hurt her.

"That was just . . . We were both a little distracted," she said, her voice quiet.

"Well . . ." He looked at her. "Maybe we could try again?"

Hermione grimaced, and then hid it quickly with a false smile. She didn't want to. She didn't want to, but he _was_ her wizard. She just wasn't sure if she wanted him to be.

Maybe one more shot was what they needed.

"All right," she said, feeling some hesitation in her spirit. "We can try one more time."

He looked into her eyes, and it was there. The mutual understanding. He knew that something wasn't right between them and that if they did this, it might be the last time.

Later, after some light snogging, he slipped inside of her. He'd only been there for two seconds and she could already tell it was going to be awful. He was so large, his frame overpowering hers, but it felt nothing like it felt to stand beside Malfoy.

 _Malfoy_.

Draco Malfoy's hands on her waist, pressing tightly, raising her up into the air. The feeling of recklessness. Of giving up complete control to someone who just a year ago, could have killed her with no remorse.

The thought of Malfoy above her, pinning her down, driving into her body and making her nerves sing. Of him touching her in an intimate way, making it feel good for her for once. Of all the dangerous parts of him playing with the safe parts of her, turning light to darkness.

Of him looking down at her with those smoldering, molten silver eyes as he brought her to the heights of pleasure.

She whimpered.

Ron moaned when her body suddenly primed itself, and they could both feel it. But Hermione was not thinking of Ron. She wasn't even trying to. She had her eyes closed. Her mind was wandering.

She was thinking of Malfoy.

It didn't take long after that. Ron was absolutely bloody abhorrent. But with her full concentration, she was able to make herself come to the mental imagery of Draco's head between her trembling thighs. Ron was so shocked that he yelped and came right after her.

There was a silence that passed that felt awkward for Hermione. She just wanted him out of her.

"You came," Ron said, sounding in awe.

"Yes," Hermione said, unable to look him in the eyes. They'd left the lights on.

"You've never done that before."

She felt mortified to even hear that sentence out of her wizard's mouth. "Not with you, no."

_With myself, and with Viktor. But not with you._

He didn't seem to catch on, because he tried to place a sloppy kiss on her lips while he was still soft inside of her. She felt her stomach roiling, and she knew.

She let out a sound and turned her face away. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"What?"

He started to lift up, and it enabled Hermione to roll out from beneath him and scoot into a sitting position. He sat up, too, and they looked at one another. They just gazed into one another's eyes.

It was in the air.

"I understand," Ron said with a heavy, sad sigh. He hung his head. "I think . . . I've been feeling the same way, too."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, her throat aching with emotions. "I just feel -"

"Like friends?" he mumbled, giving her a wry grin.

She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she might cry.

"It's not him, is it?"

"Who?"

"Malfoy," he said with a scowl. "It's not him, is it?"

"It's not him," she said, and it was a lie.

"I believe you."

They laid there in the silence of Christmas morning until they heard the sounds of the house waking up. They kept their thoughts to themselves. Hermione found that she was more perturbed by the fact that it _was_ in some capacity Malfoy, than she was by the fact that she had lied to Ron.

When they went downstairs, both Ron and Hermione pretended like nothing was wrong.

Hermione had a nice Christmas. She really did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Small**

**Chapter Three - Mine**

O

**January 1999**

Hermione "forgot" her wand exactly five times the week she went back to Hogwarts.

She left it in her dorm room before she went to the library to work with Malfoy on the sections. It was because she wanted it to take longer. She wanted to be around him for more time, even if they never spoke. Even if he had no idea what him lifting her up had done to her, she forgot her wand so that she would have a reason to ask him for help.

The first day, she casually asked him for assistance in putting books on a shelf that was above her. The look on his face when she told him she'd forgotten her wand was one of pure bewilderment. He'd marched right over, every step mirroring the beating of her heart as she prepared to feel his touch on her hips again.

"Well?" he'd said, as he stood beside her and held his hands out.

"Well, what?" she'd asked, breathless with nervousness and anticipation.

"Where are the books you want me to put up? Pass them to me."

She hadn't wanted to make a fool of herself, so she'd just handed him the books.

The third day, she'd decided to try something else.

When they got to the end of the third stack, the one that contained part of the History section, Hermione had tried the same thing again. He'd come over, seeming somewhat distracted, and just lifted the books from her arms. Hermione had taken the hint, knowing after months of working on this with him that he was in a poor mood.

She'd tried to ask him what was the matter, but he'd just given her a strange look and kept silent.

The fifth day, Hermione felt like she was already growing desperate. She'd never felt so needy over something so silly before. She just wanted him to lift her up, so she could feel small without feeling scared again.

Could she just ask him to? Yes.

Was she going to? No.

Hermione racked her brain the entire time they were in the library, looking for some sort of solution to her dilemma. She had never been the type of person to seek out anything that could be described as pleasurable in any capacity. But she'd never felt so alive as the moment she orgasmed with the thought of Malfoy inside of her.

At this point, she was eighteen and the war was over.

She could handle having his hands on her just one more time.

A wild thought came to her mind.

_What if I'm looking for the wrong type of help?_

She glanced behind her, over her shoulder. He was in the process of carrying a load of heavy tomes to the stacks. Their eyes met as they went. He didn't smile.

The coil he'd wound in her gut after the Christmas party tightened.

He'd be coming back through soon. She needed to hurry.

Hermione tucked a book underneath her arm and began to climb the shelves. She knew she was being stupid. Oh, she _knew_ it was so out of character for her, but _Merlin_. She just wanted him to have a reason to touch her.

When she was so high up that it would hurt her ankles or legs to let go, she put on her highest-pitched, reediest voice, and called for him.

"Malfoy? I need your help!"

It was two seconds of clinging to the shelves later that Malfoy came out of the stack.

"Fuck, Granger!" he exclaimed, jogging over. "What the bloody Hell are you doing?!"

"I need your help," she repeated, keeping her eyes on the empty shelves in front of her.

"I can see that," he said, his voice strained. "You need to get down. I can put the books up there myself. And where is your wand?!"

"I forgot it," she said, her voice stammering a bit. Hermione hoped he didn't figure out what she was up to. She sounded like a fool, but she didn't care.

Her plan had worked.

"You forget your wand a lot," he said, and it almost sounded like he growled it. It made a shiver ripple through her. She clutched the shelving tighter with her hands.

"Can you just - just get me down?"

"Get you - ?" He scoffed. "Why would you climb up if you couldn't get back down?!"

"Just get me down!" she cried.

_Just put your bloody hands on me. Please._

And then his hands were reaching up, and she could feel the heat of his fingers emanating through the fabric of her skirt on her hips. She had to force herself to hide a smile, but it was difficult.

"Climb down one shelf," he said with a sigh. "Come on."

She did.

His hands wrapped around her waist, just like they had in the Room of Requirement, and she felt the tension in her body melting away. Just like that, he was in control. Hermione let her eyelids flutter as he lifted her and lowered her to the floor. It felt like his fingers lingered, but she couldn't be sure.

"Remember your wand next time, yeah?" he said, his voice right beside her ear. "It's not safe."

When she turned around, he was already walking back to the stack he'd come from.

 _Since when does he care about my safety_?

O

Hermione stood beneath the wall with her hands on her hips.

She smiled.

"That's three lists," she said, more to herself than to Hannah, who stood beside her.

"Three, or three more?" Hannah asked. She carried a bushel of grapes in her hand, from which she was plucking individual grapes and popping them into her mouth.

"Three more," Hermione said, tossing her curls over her shoulder. "I'm still not beating Pansy Parkinson on the _Hogwarts Restoration Recognition_ list, though. That Christmas party must have gotten her a _lot_ of votes."

Hannah giggled. "How many times do I have to tell you? We don't vote. If we voted, don't you think you'd be included on the voters' registration ballot?"

Hermione peered at Pansy's name. She hardly ever saw the witch around school, but she was starting to wonder if perhaps she might need to seek her out and find out what her secret was. If Hannah was right and there was no voting taking place, then Pansy was taking tea with the Headmistress. There was no other way she could be placed above Hermione, after how many tasks Hermione had taken on for the HRC. Pansy had done nothing but throw parties.

"If she's taking tea with her," Hermione murmured, inspecting the entire list of ten names, "then they've formed a friendship. A friendship means . . . She has an in."

"An _in_?!" Hannah spluttered, nearly choking on her grapes. "Hermione!"

"I'll have to work harder," Hermione said under her breath, ignoring Hannah's raucous laughter as she stormed back down the corridor.

Hermione wasn't sure how many more tasks she could take on. She was taking three classes and had two free periods that she used to help with the tasks she'd added her names to. The other students didn't seem to want her there. Hermione typically ended up being turned away or bumped aside so many times that it was best to just move on to the next area. So, what more could she do that she wasn't already doing?

As she headed to Advanced Potions, it came to her.

 _I can increase my time in the library and get it done sooner. If we get it completed before the end of the year, just the two of us, that's_ bound _to move me to the top of the list._

She doubted that Malfoy would be on board to double his time, but Hermione certainly was. With her wand and a quick eye, she could have it done that much faster.

With a skip to her step, she flounced off to the dungeons.

O

Professor Slughorn had strange rules.

Not only were students not allowed to talk during brewing time, but outside of the time that they used cauldrons, they weren't allowed to use their wands. Typically, this wouldn't be an issue, except for the fact that he wouldn't allow anyone to use their wands to pick up, lift, or transport cauldrons and ingredients. All the cauldrons were required to be placed onto back-of-the-room shelves at the beginning of the class period.

When Hermione's hand shot up on Day One of term to ask the reason why, Slughorn's response had been that in _his_ day, they learned not to rely on wands for _everything_. Hermione pushed the limit, asking him if she could be the exception since she was the shortest witch in the class. He'd looked perturbed.

" _Now, my dear,"_ Slughorn had said, his bug-like eyes watering as he gazed down at her, " _I know you are friends with Mr. Potter, but why on Earth would I do that?"_

Hermione had felt confused, since he'd invited her to his Christmas party in Sixth Year. But as the year drug on and new favorite students made themselves known, it became clear to her.

He was still not a fan of Harry after the poisoned wine incident with Ron.

And so Hermione had been ensuring that she arrived early to class all year so that she could place her cauldron someplace on the lowest shelf. It didn't matter _where_ along it, as long as it was on the bottom where she could reach. She'd never had an issue, not even with Malfoy, who kept his cauldron on the topmost shelf.

She'd certainly _expected_ herself to have issues with him, before the library. Now, she knew there was no reason to fear him.

There was a new person to keep an eye on.

As Hermione wandered into class on the 15th day of January, she was unsurprised to see Sebastien Selwyn. After all, he'd been in her class for the entire year. He was a Seventh Year, and he was someone who had always been in Advanced classes. She knew that. It was just that he'd never spoken to her before the night of the Christmas party.

Hermione was not a weakling. She wasn't meek, she wasn't scared, and nothing fazed her.

Usually.

But something about the glint in Sebastien's eyes in the corridor that night, the pure abandonment of decorum . . . It was a sign to her that set off warning bells in her mind. He'd said he wouldn't mind going to Azkaban just for the chance to get to curse her.

They were not the only people in the classroom, but they might as well have been. He was placing his cauldron on the middle shelf right as she entered, his back to her. She hesitated for a moment.

He wouldn't be so bold as to try something in _class_ , would he?

She strode forward with a purpose and placed her cauldron onto the lowest shelf, on the edge. Perhaps if she turned quickly, he wouldn't -

"Afternoon, Granger." A chill rolled down her spine at the mocking, sing-song tone. "Cauldron on the lowest shelf, hm? Is that because your legs are so short you can't reach the middle?"

"Selwyn," she said, nodding a curt greeting.

Sebastien stepped smoothly in front of her, and Hermione felt like he towered over her like an ancient, menacing tree. He was smirking.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Kindly move out of the way, please. Class will start soon."

"Aw," he said, flashing his teeth with his frightening smile, "you don't want to talk to me? Perhaps we could sit beside one another today."

"No, thank you," she said, her gaze dancing behind him to see the room filling with Seventh and Eighth Years. "Again: I ask you to kindly move out of the way."

"Why would I do that, when we can talk and get to know one another?" he cooed, placing his hand on the wall above her head, beside the cauldron shelves.

She lowered her voice to a dangerous hiss. "Move, or your blood is sand, Selwyn."

Sebastien leaned closer, pinning her hard against the wall. He pressed his body so firmly against her that she couldn't breathe. He wrapped his fingers around the arm that held her wand in the sleeve of her robes, so she couldn't _accio_ her wand if she even tried.

A couple of girls walked up, giving them both weird looks. As though Hermione was the type of witch to do something like this willingly in _class_ with a wizard. She wasn't _Pansy Parkinson,_ for Merlin's sake.

Hermione glared up at Sebastien, but when she tried to take a second breath, it became trapped in her ribcage. Her lungs quaked.

"Can't breathe?" Selwyn said, the look on his face dastardly. His gaze scanned her reddening appearance.

 _He's barmy_ , she thought, horrified as the moments passed. _He's actually suffocating me in the classroom! Why is no one doing anything? Do people honestly believe I'd_ be _with this git?!_

Suddenly, Malfoy was there, standing beside them. Relief flooded Hermione's body, even though her vision had begun to speckle.

With a disturbed expression and one of the sneers he used to direct her way, Malfoy took two fingers and placed them on the front of Selwyn's left shoulder. He only shoved lightly, but the way Selwyn stumbled backward, it seemed like he'd used quite a bit of force.

The moment Sebastien was away from her, Hermione sucked in the deepest, fullest gasp of air that she could. Her lungs burned with the memory of not being able to expand. She clenched her hands to hide the trembling.

"One h-hundred points from Ravenclaw, Selwyn," Hermione said, her voice somewhat hoarse. She wanted to look away from Sebastien, to avert her eyes from the wicked shine of bloodlust that still lingered in his emerald eyes, but she knew better than to show any form of weakness in front of an enemy.

Even if he was just a seventeen-year-old student.

Sebastien looked up at Malfoy, who just stared at him until Sebastien walked away. Hermione glanced upward. Malfoy watched him go to his table.

"Malfoy," she said.

He didn't react.

" _Malfoy_!" she said, threading strength into her voice.

He jolted and looked down at her. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He nodded, moved past her to put his cauldron on the top shelf, and then went to his table. Hermione walked behind him, her knees still a bit weak from the miniature ordeal she'd just been through.

Hermione knew people weren't exactly fond of her. As far as what that _wretched_ Rita Skeeter had reported, Harry and Ron were the brains and brawn of the Dark Lord's destruction. Hermione was just the feminine decoration. Skeeter had _actually_ written that the wizarding world should be more concerned about what "services" Hermione had offered in their tent.

It was horrible. Everything Hermione had done, and she'd been reduced to naught but a woman with two legs. And there was nothing she could do about it.

So, when she returned for Eighth Year, it was to a less-than-warm welcome. The Eighth Years believed Hermione's side of the story, but there were only thirty of them that had returned for the special school year. Thirty, compared to the hundreds of other students who got all of their information from the papers?

It was like she was in First Year again.

Hermione didn't mind it, though. It enabled her to focus on her studies, her extracurriculars, and her lists.

But Sebastien? Sebastien was going to be an issue.

Slughorn went to the front of the room and droned on for a little while about the potion they'd be working on that day. It was nothing too complicated, but he had a tendency to reminisce for the majority of his lectures. Hermione found that working on homework for her other two classes was a lot more productive than sitting there and listening to him pontificate.

When he was done and it was time to start brewing, Hermione was in the process of finishing a thought on her Ancient Runes essay. The students around her began to traipse back to the shelves, leaving her frantically scrawling across her parchment. They were already returning when she finally stood up.

Right as Hermione's hand reached for her cauldron, it moved. She watched in surprise, grabbing for it as it floated upwards. It came to rest on the center of the very top shelf, _way_ out of her reach.

 _What?_ she thought, glancing over her shoulder.

Sebastien. At his table, with his back to Slughorn and his wand out. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

Rage filled her body. This guy was a prat. He was possibly even more of a prat than Malfoy used to be. She ripped her wand out of her sleeve and prepared to float her cauldron back down from the top shelf.

"Wands away, please, until you start brewing," Slughorn said from the front of the room. " _Miss Granger_."

Hermione let out a tiny sound of frustration, turning to glare at her new mortal enemy. Sebastien smirked as she shoved her wand back up into her sleeve.

Her eyes slid to the right, to the tables on the other side of the aisle. Malfoy was standing on the opposite side of his partner, a Seventh Year named Emily. He was in the process of chopping up some sort of roots, but his dark gaze was not on his cutting board.

It was on Sebastien.

He looked angry.

Hermione watched in surprise as Malfoy dropped his knife and walked around the side of his table. Still glaring at Sebastien, he brushed by him, never allowing his eyes to leave the Ravenclaw boy. He even turned to walk backwards, absentmindedly cracking his knuckles as he went.

Sebastien gave Malfoy a withering look of his own. The two boys held gazes, even as Malfoy's body crowded her by the shelving.

As per Slughorn's rules, no one said a word.

Malfoy finally looked down at Hermione, raising his eyebrows as he reached up and plucked her cauldron down. He handed it to her and their fingertips brushed.

Hermione's stomach flopped.

'Thank you,' she mouthed.

He bit his lower lip, nodded, and then turned so she could pass by him. She could feel him shadowing her, towering over her body as they made their way back to their tables. She didn't know why, but she felt like her entire backside of her body was on fire.

She shot Sebastien one last glare as she walked by, her robes _swish_ ing around her ankles as she did so. It felt like he'd come out of nowhere to bother her. She couldn't figure out why he'd waited to start trouble until the holiday time, nor why he seemed so focused on _her_ , and not Harry or Ron. But Hermione never had understood the minds of Death Eaters.

How could she hope to understand the mind of one of their children?

Malfoy went to his own spot, and Hermione went to hers.

For the rest of class, Hermione couldn't pretend she didn't notice Malfoy and Sebastien continually exchanging scathing glares. It was confusing. Why would Malfoy care if Sebastien was being a prat towards her? She and Malfoy barely interacted during their library restoration task, unless it was necessary. The last time they'd spoken more than a few sentences to one another was when she'd asked him to help her down from the stack.

If she couldn't say they were friends, then what were they?

O

Towards the end of January, they finally talked.

It was their first real conversation, too. One that didn't involve any yelling or shouting. Just two people, getting to know one another while they worked.

They'd been making real headway on the library. In a matter of days, they'd likely be halfway through. Once they finished putting all of the books on the shelves that weren't broken, Hermione was going to go through with her wand and clean up any debris on the floor, and fix the stacks that were broken. Then, they could finish the rest. By her count, they could be done well before June.

Hermione had been thinking about the incident in the potions classroom for the past few days, wondering what it all meant and what Malfoy had been thinking.

She'd somewhat gotten over her little infatuation with his hands and being lifted, but she wasn't sure what to do about the fact that she'd thought about him while sleeping with her now-ex wizard. What if she fancied him?

Oh, it would absolutely be the end of the world as she knew it. Nevermind what she'd lied to Ron about, if Harry and Ginny found out she _fancied Draco Malfoy_?

It was unheard of.

However, the way Malfoy had quite literally saved her from Sebastien had really stuck with her and made it more difficult to pay attention during Slughorn's lectures.

Thinking back on it, one hundred points taken away was nowhere near enough for what Sebastien had done. If she wanted to be dramatic, it was attempted murder. She really should have gone to Headmistress McGonagall about it.

But she was halfway through the year. She didn't want to cause a fuss when she had already worked so hard. When she thought about the hassle of pressing charges for something like that, going through the rigamarole of trials after she'd already gone through so many after the war? It just sounded exhausting.

The Law Aurors that the Selwyn family could hire alone would probably make things difficult. They'd make her feel shrunken, like she couldn't stand up to them. And while she knew she absolutely _could_ stand up to them - she was Hermione Granger, after all - she didn't want to go through the process of fighting for her place again and again.

The way Malfoy had watched Sebastien for the rest of the class period that day, it almost felt protective.

Maybe it was okay to feel small when he was around.

"Granger, here."

Malfoy's voice broke into her thoughts and she blinked up at him. He was holding a stack of books out to her. She pointed her wand and floated them onto the shelf, reading the spines to organize them in the air.

"You seem distracted," he said, watching her.

Hermione thought of a quick lie. "I'm just tired. I haven't gotten much sleep."

"Owling your weasel late at night?"

Hermione had a sickly feeling in her stomach. She hadn't thought about Ron much since Christmas, and she hadn't written him. He hadn't written to her, either.

"I don't have a weasel," she said, rolling her eyes. "And no. Just a lot of studying and essays."

Malfoy crossed his arms and shouldered the shelf beside him, inspecting her with curiosity in his bright grey eyes. "Don't have a weasel, hm? Did you have one before, and then got rid of him?"

"Stop calling him a weasel, Malfoy," she reprimanded, narrowing her eyes at him as she finished the last of the shelf. She thought it was time for a little break, so she faced him and put her hands on her hips. "And not that it's any of your _business_ , but Ronald and I broke up."

"When?" he asked.

She felt her hackles rising. "At Christmas."

"Ah," he said, his gaze falling to the floor for a moment. When he lifted it to lock eyes with her again, she felt like there was a wealth of sincerity there that she'd never seen in him before. "I'm sorry."

Taken aback, Hermione began to fidget with her wand in front of her. "Thank you. Nothing to be sorry for. It was . . . Mutual."

"Fell out of love?" he asked, momentarily uncrossing one arm to push his hair back. "Or was there someone else?"

 _Erm, of sorts._ Hermione felt her cheeks flaring with heat.

"N-No," she said, clearing her throat and looking away. "No one else. We just weren't right for one another."

Malfoy lifted his brows. "I could have told you that. I've had more than a few classes with the Weaselbee, and he doesn't have the brightest candle flame up there."

Hermione sighed. "That's not why. It was -"

"His imbecilic, immature sense of humor?"

She scoffed at the twinkle of amusement that passed across his face. " _No_ , Malfoy. It was -"

"His temper?"

" _No_. He -"

Hermione stopped herself. That was a lie. Now that she really, truly thought about it, it was a bold-faced _lie_. She had never minded being a few rungs above Ron on the ladder of intelligence, and she'd always found his jokes and antics humorous. But his temper, the way it flared like a box of fireworks and caused everything around him to combust, always filled her with a feeling of discomfort that she didn't like experiencing around him.

Ron was her best friend. She didn't want to be frightened of him.

Malfoy cocked his head to the side and he repeated himself, this time with finality. "His temper."

"No," she said, throwing her hands up to tousle her curls. It felt like the back of her neck was heating up. "I mean, a little bit. He did have a short temper. He was crass. He wasn't very - very kind to me sometimes."

" _To_ you?" His voice sounded like it was stretched over hot coals. His brows knitted together, low over shadowed eyes.

Hermione looked up at him. She didn't know why she said what she said next. She supposed it was because of the atmosphere. Being alone in the library, not really having anyone to talk to this year, and opening up the seal on a pouch that she'd stuffed full of her issues with Ron, all contributed.

Perhaps she just wanted to tell Malfoy something that only he would know.

"To my body."

There was silence. Her mortification grew as the seconds crept by, but she didn't dare speak or look away from him. To look away would be to show weakness or frailty, and she wasn't going to do that.

The look in Malfoy's eyes was the same as the one she'd seen in the potions classroom. It made her feel nervous, but in an unsettling way that lacked foundation.

"And you're still friends with him?" he asked, voice somewhat low.

"Of course," she said, frowning.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow, and it was like he was lifting the lever on the floodgates.

She began to babble in defense of herself or of Ron. She didn't know which.

"He and Harry are my best friends. Ron's rather busy with his Auror position - with his internship - and I'm sure if it were under different circumstances, then perhaps our relationship would have worked out. But we're still friends. He wrote me, but -"

He interrupted her without ever moving from his arms-crossed, leaning position.

"Did he hurt you?"

This was a strange conversation. What an even stranger thing for him to say. She was starting to feel flustered.

"What?"

"He's as tall as me, Granger," Malfoy said, his look as pointed as though she'd said something dumb. "You're, what? 160, 162cm? Did he _hurt_ you?"

Hermione felt speechless for a moment. She understood what he was asking, what he was insinuating.

She just couldn't figure out why it mattered to him.

"You say things so openly," she whispered, finding that her voice felt trapped. "So blunt."

"I'm a Slytherin," he said, lifting his chin.

"Slytherins aren't _blunt_."

"We're honest."

Hermione averted her eyes. She knew what he was asking, and yet she didn't. Was he talking about physically, or . . . ? When she pieced together the things they'd discussed and the fact that she'd referenced her body, she just went with her instinct.

Her instinct was telling her to just tell him. No one else was here and he looked sincere. He hadn't made fun of her once this year.

She just wanted to tell _someone_.

"It hurt," she said in a quiet voice. "The . . . The s-sex. It hurt."

"And you didn't say anything?" His voice was just as quiet as hers, if not quieter.

It almost felt like the library was a completely different world. Like it was some faraway land ensconced inside a crystal globe that no one else had access to. She felt her palms slicking with sweat, but she didn't feel embarrassed. She felt like the air was charged with electricity. Electricity that was warming the entire room.

"I didn't want to make him unhappy," she said. "Unfortunately, it's something that happens with a lot of women. Er, witches. We just have a tendency to say nothing when we don't like something, because we don't want to upset the man."

Malfoy unfolded his arms, slipped one hand into the pocket of his black trousers beneath the hem of his jumper, and then placed his other hand on the shelf beside him. He stared at her for a long time, as though he were trying to peel layers back and look for something. She didn't know what he was looking for.

By the time he spoke, Hermione's heart was racing fast enough to turn her breathless.

"That's the thing about you, Granger," he murmured. "You never seem to want to make anyone else unhappy. Always trailing along behind Golden Boy One and Golden Boy Two. Never stepping on anyone's toes when it really counts. I've seen you face down Death Eaters twice your age and hex them to another dimension, but when it comes to your personal life, you act like you don't want to take up too much space. You should try to do something for yourself sometime."

Hermione's heart continued to race. The feelings that she'd been having towards him had returned, the strange ones that caused her stomach to coil and twist up tight. She'd never felt so attracted to someone in her entire life, and she hadn't the slightest clue why it was him. He was almost a meter away from her and so much taller, but she felt like he was enveloping her, surrounding her, and swallowing her whole.

She pressed her thighs together.

"And how would you know anything about me?" she asked.

He breathed a laugh, his gaze flitting about her face.

"It's not as if you're invisible, Granger," he said. "You may be small, but your personality fills every space you enter. It fills the halls of this castle, and it filled the entire courtyard the day of the battle. Don't ever make yourself take up less space for a tosser like Weasley. That's not how you deserved to be treated. And it's certainly not how you deserve to be touched."

Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe.

Then, as if he hadn't just said something more romantic than anything Viktor Krum had ever said to her, he glanced down at his watch.

"It's almost 8:30PM," he said. "Let's call it for the night, yeah?"

"All right," Hermione whispered. It was all she could manage.

They wandered about, setting things up to make it easier for them to pick up where they left off the next day, and Hermione found that she was completely lost inside of her head.

_Your personality fills every space you enter._

_It filled the entire courtyard the day of the battle._

_Don't ever make yourself take up less space._

_It's not how you deserve to be touched._

She felt like she might never stop blushing. It was almost like a bizarre dream, that Draco Malfoy had been the one to tell her such a thing. To tell her something that she hadn't realized she needed to hear.

All these extra tasks that she'd taken on, and the lists. They were a colossal waste of time.

What was the point of stretching herself out, wearing herself thin just to have her name on a wall? What was the point of silencing herself and her feelings when it came to Ron? Was she really going to throw herself before the sword just to spare his feelings? To spare _anyone's_?

She was Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age. It didn't matter what Rita Skeeter said: Harry would never have defeated the Dark Lord without Hermione's help. Ron was her best friend, and he didn't have any right to her body, especially not if he didn't know how to treat it. People like Sebastien weren't going to get away with treating her poorly anymore, either.

Toss the lists, hang the shrinking, and burn the silencing herself.

Hermione wasn't small.

As she and Malfoy walked down the corridor later, Hermione found that there was a slight spring to her step. Even though she was walking alone in the corridor with someone who was on parole, someone who might have committed war crimes she had no idea of, she felt safer than she had in months.

When they reached the moving staircase room, Hermione realized that Malfoy hadn't even needed to come this way. He could have gone the other direction, to the flight of stairs down the corridor from the library entrance.

Had he . . . Escorted her here?

"Granger," he said as she walked towards the staircase that would take her up to the fifth floor.

She stopped and turned back to look up at him. "Yes?"

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging his shoulders up a bit as though he were sheepish. "Does Selwyn give you trouble often?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Oh, no . . . Just recently, he's made himself known."

He nodded slowly and then narrowed his eyes in a look that seemed almost curious, or like he was debating something. "If he bothers you again, just . . . You know, tell me. If you want to."

Hermione clasped her hands behind her back, absentmindedly twisting the toes of her left foot on the stone ground. "You want me to tell you?"

"Yeah. I do."

She was floored. Floored, but also confirmed. This meant that in potions class, he _had_ been watching Sebastien because he was being protective. She clenched her teeth against their desire to chatter, choosing only to nod to him.

His lips twitched upward in the ghost of a smile, and then he turned to go.

"Wait," Hermione called, her voice echoing a bit.

He turned back around, pushing his hands through his hair. "Yeah?"

"Does it bother you?" she blurted out, choosing to try to make light of the situation. "That he bothers me?"

Malfoy looked down at the ground for a moment and then glanced up at her through his lashes.

"The only one who's allowed to heckle you is me. If I'm not doing it, then no one is." He started walking backwards, and then he gave her a lopsided grin that she'd never seen before. His eyes pierced through to her, cutting across lantern shadows. "You're as good as mine, Granger."

After one last lingering glance, he turned back around and walked into the darkness of the corridor.

Hermione went to the Gryffindor common room in a complete daze. She didn't know what had happened that night, but it felt ground-breaking. It felt like it meant something. It certainly meant something to her.

Tonight in the library was the first time she'd been reminded of the Battle of Hogwarts, and hadn't felt like dissolving into tears of panic.

" _You're as good as mine, Granger."_

That didn't sound so bad.


	4. Chapter 4

**Trigger Warning: violence and torture in this chapter after the SECOND page break!**

* * *

**Small**

**Chapter Four - Down**

O

**February 1999**

Hermione wanted to call Malfoy by his first name.

It was currently Saturday the 13th of February, and all Hermione could think about was the fact that she wanted to start calling Malfoy "Draco." It had been a few weeks since their conversation about Ron, and she could honestly say that there was no amount of animosity between the two of them. Sometimes, he even made her laugh.

They'd graduated to working in the library on the weekends. Draco had casually mentioned on the last night of January that he was going to start coming on Saturdays and Sundays to get a shelf of two done, and that had piqued Hermione's curiosity. As much as she was trying not to care about the lists, she _did_ want to finish the restoration before June. Coming in on the weekends would work best for that timeline.

But something about it felt so . . . Different.

On the weekdays, it felt like another class or task for school. On the weekends, it would feel like they were doing it for fun. And doing anything for fun with Draco would make them friends.

She didn't mind the sound of that.

The first weekend of February was their first weekend of "off-duty" work. It went much better than Hermione had expected.

They took a lot of breaks to read and lounge, but overall, they got hours worth of work done that they never would have been able to do on the weekdays without breaking curfew. They met at the staircase room in the morning both days and worked clear until right before dinner, and Hermione felt like it hadn't even been a full hour.

Draco was fun to be around.

Not only did he like to tell her humorous stories about his father and his bizarre interest in magical model trains, but he seemed to find it rather amusing to reach around her shoulders and tug on her curls. When she shot him a dirty look, he'd whip his head around and say, " _Oi! Who did that?"_ He'dtouch his own hair and claim the library was haunted.

Every. Single. Time.

As annoying as that was, though, she couldn't say he was anything less than her friend at this point. Her strange attraction to his height aside, it felt so silly to call him Malfoy when his name was Draco. "Malfoy" felt like she was trying to keep him at a distance when she wanted to do anything but.

Now, it was the day before Valentine's, and they were walking back to the library after taking a break for lunch.

"I promise you on Merlin's _beard,"_ Hermione was saying, "if you pull on my hair again . . ."

He covered his grin with the back of his hand, laughing. "I don't know why you're saying that to me. Say it to the ghost of the library."

"Stoppit!" she said, whirling on him. "There's no _ghost_! It's just you!"

He opened his mouth, shaking his head and shrugging. "It's not me, I'm telling you - _hey_!"

Hermione used her leather bag to smack him on the upper arm, trying to stifle her own giggles. "It _is_ you. You're not as _slithery_ as you think you are, you snake. There's no ghost in the library. If there was, not only would we have met it before now, but it would be in _Hogwarts: A History,_ like the other ghosts."

"Except for Moaning Myrtle."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, except for Moaning Myrtle."

He smirked. "Swot."

She hit him with her bag again, and they went inside the library.

They began to work, sliding into easy conversation as they did so. The intact shelves were more than halfway filled now, and all they had left to do were three sections. After those sections were complete, Hermione could magick the destroyed shelves back to rights, and then they could begin filling them.

Together, they had also figured out that the fastest way to do things was to split the shelving. Draco was now exclusively working on upper shelves while Hermione worked on the lower ones. They stayed on the same stack until it was complete, instead of starting at opposite sides.

But Hermione was still Hermione, and she seemed to always find a way to get him to put his hands on her.

"Help me with these," she said, trying to hide the mischief from her tone.

"What is it?" he said in a somewhat strained voice, in the process of sliding some books onto the highest shelf.

"Just some books. Too high up," she said.

"What?" He gave her a weird look. "I thought I was -"

"No, you could just lift me up," she said, shrugging. "I can do it."

" _What_?" He strolled over, pushing the sleeves of his jumper up. "I thought -"

"You could just lift me up," she said, begging all of the fates to keep her from blushing as she began to babble. "I can do it. You're busy with the other ones, and these actually don't go on the lower shelves like I thought. So you could just lift me up, and I can slide them in. It's not a -"

"All right, all right!" he said, laughing. "Salazar, you can _talk_. Turn around."

 _This is so imbecilic,_ Hermione thought with glee running through her body. She faced the shelf with the books that she'd purposefully swiped from his pile when he wasn't looking. _This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done. I'm a walking Witch Weekly article._

His hands went to her waist and she heard his voice in her ear, sending a chill along her flesh.

"Ready?"

 _Why did I wear a dress today?_ was her last thought as he lifted her up. She felt his cheek against her hip, but he said nothing about it, and neither did she.

And there it was again. The flipping feeling in her stomach. The one that made her feel completely unlike herself and yet so free to _be_ herself that it was dizzying. She felt like she was breathing in a place with no air, and it made no sense because it was just so _dramatic_ of a feeling to have in regards to something as nonsensical as being lifted, but . . .

It was like the Earth could shatter, and he'd still be holding her up.

She'd be safe.

Hermione placed the books onto the shelf one by one.

"I'm surprised you didn't use your wand for this," he said, as though he weren't holding her in the air. "Unless you forgot it again today."

It was in her bag.

"I left it in my dorm room," she said.

"Ah," he replied, and she felt his voice rumbling in his chest behind her thighs. She regretted wearing a dress that stopped above her knees today, and yet she really, really didn't. "You seem to forget your wand a lot."

"The war is over," she said. "There's not really a need to carry it everywhere with me."

Another lie.

"Even with wizards like _Selwyn_ around?"

"Why would I need to worry about him?" she said. "He hasn't bothered me in weeks."

Selwyn hadn't bothered her since that day in Advanced Potions. She wasn't sure why. She'd passed him plenty of times in the corridors, but all he'd done was give her scathing looks.

"I know," Draco replied.

_He knows? How does he know?_

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She put the last book onto the shelf.

_Did he talk to him?_

"All right," she whispered when she was done. "You can put me down now."

Slowly, Draco lowered her to the ground. He didn't move away. Hermione didn't turn around, either.

"Did you say something to him?" she asked, somewhat breathless.

"Maybe."

Hermione whirled around and craned her neck. "What did you say to him?"

Draco's lips twitched up into a smirk and he combed his hair back. "Nothing that wasn't similar to, or along the lines of, a threat."

Hermione frowned in confusion as the words marinated in her mind. Her eyes snapped to lock with his. "You threatened him?"

"Gonna take points away?" His hand came to rest on the shelf above her head.

Hermione scoffed in disbelief, fidgeting with her fingernails in front of her abdomen. When had he threatened Sebastien Selwyn? _Why_?

Technically, for a threat, she _was_ supposed to take points away. She was supposed to take points away and report it to the Headmistress and their Head of House. But Hermione hadn't done that for Sebastien in the first place. After all, she could handle him the same way she'd handled every Death Eater she'd ever faced.

She didn't want to report Draco.

"What did you - I mean, what did you _say_?"

Draco's gaze fell to her lips. At this close distance and with the tilt of her head, she could see that his eyelashes were much longer than she'd realized. He was handsome, but more than that, he was hauntingly beautiful. He looked like he was carved from marble, and she'd never noticed it before this year.

 _I've got it bad,_ she thought with more than a little bit of misery.

They stood there for a moment, the air seeming rather warm between them as they gazed into one another's eyes. Hermione hadn't the slightest clue what he was thinking, but she knew what she was thinking.

His lips looked so full and soft.

"I told him that if he talked to you again," he said, taking a deep breath in the middle of his sentence and raising his eyebrows, "then I would show him what the Dark Lord left behind in me."

. . . _And he hasn't spoken to me since,_ Hermione thought.

As Hermione searched his face, her gaze dancing up and down, she wondered what the Dark Lord really had left behind in him. What darkness lay where the light couldn't reach inside of Draco Malfoy?

Why did she want to find out?

"Can I call you Draco?" she blurted out.

He stared at her for a moment, his dark brows pulling together. "I - what?"

Heart pounding harder, Hermione tucked her curls behind her ears. "Can I . . . Can I call you Draco?"

He took a step back. "Uh - yeah. I mean, yes. Why not?"

Hermione couldn't help it. She beamed up at him. "All right. Draco."

He stared at her mouth, at her smile, for a solid five seconds before his own lips curved upward. "So that means I call you Hermione."

She blinked.

_There's no way it should sound that sinful._

"Y-yes," she said, still smiling. "You can call me Hermione. We're . . . Friends now, aren't we?"

He tilted his head to the side and inspected her the way she had come to find that he did when he was analyzing her. He studied her for so long that Hermione wondered if she might have jumped too far too fast. Being friends with a Slytherin was one thing, but this was _Draco Malfoy_. The last person anyone would ever think Hermione would want to be friends with was him.

Yet here he was, and she spent time with him every single day.

"Friends," he said, as though he were tasting the word.

Abruptly, they went back to work. Things were silent all the way until dinner, which was bizarre. They hadn't had a silent day in a while. But Hermione found that she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. She wanted to call it embarrassment, but she wasn't sure that's what it was.

Draco made her laugh and spent hours in the library, working on the restoration with her. He'd threatened Sebastien Selwyn for her. There was no way he didn't realize that Hermione was not forgetting her wand in her dorm room.

Later, when they started walking towards the Great Hall for dinner, he spoke to her.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? For Valentine's?" she asked. "Oh, I was going to go to Hogsmeade and have some Butterbeer."

"Ah."

His words sunk in and she felt her stomach twisting with a bit of nervousness. "Why?"

"No reason," he said quickly, running his fingers through his hair. "I hope you have fun."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Thank you?"

"Yeah."

They reached the doors, students shooting them strange looks as they lingered in the open doorway. Hermione had gotten used to them by now.

It was all over the castle that Hermione and Draco were always around one another. No one had said anything to her about it, not even Hannah, but whenever they were spotted, it was like they were the main attraction.

"Are you going to sit with me today?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Granger," he said, and then he grinned. "I mean, _Hermione_ . . . The day I sit at the Gryffindor table is the day I die. Why don't _you_ sit at the Slytherin table with _me_?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I don't like snakes. Sorry."

He laughed, doing that thing where he covered his mouth again. His eyes twinkled. "And you think I like lions?"

"You're invited," she said as she turned and started towards the right. "Just remember that."

"I will if you will!" he called, and then he went to the left.

As Hermione sat down and locked eyes with him across the room, they shared a smile that could only be considered as a secret one.

She wondered if perhaps she should have invited him to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow, too.

O

Hermione realized now that she'd made a mistake.

She should have invited Draco to have Butterbeer with her. He was her friend, after all. He probably hadn't wanted to invite himself along with her because it wasn't exactly Pureblood decorum to do so.

It was Valentine's Day, and she was going to the Three Broomsticks alone.

Entering the restaurant, Hermione greeted Madam Rosmerta with a smile on her face. The inside was decked out in Valentine's regalia, complete with hearts falling from the ceiling and lights, and every table seemed to have red or pink place settings. It was charming.

She found a table, ordered her Butterbeer, and then settled in.

The restaurant was full to the brim with patrons tonight, many of them couples and groups of friends. Hannah Abbott was sitting at a table with Seamus, the Patil twins were at a table with some other girls, and Dean Thomas was practically sharing a chair with his Seventh Year girlfriend.

As cheesy as it sounded, love really _was_ in the air at the Three Broomsticks.

None of this would be occurring if they hadn't won the final battle. The war really _was_ over, and she could see it evidenced in the smiles of her friends. It was visible, the carefree energy that bounced back and forth between them all as they laughed and carried on as though nothing had happened. They had the freedom to do that now.

She just wondered if they had trouble sleeping, too.

Her gaze flitted about the room, and then did a double take.

Sebastien Selwyn.

He was in the corner, sitting with the same group of friends she always saw him with. It was the same ones who had laughed at her in the corridor after the Christmas party. He hadn't noticed Hermione sitting there, but he was bound to at some point.

She wasn't nervous.

Hermione sipped her Butterbeer. She couldn't believe that Draco had actually threatened him. She was still in a state of shock about it. She didn't know if he'd done it because he was trying to do the right thing by keeping Sebastien from bullying her, or if it was something else. But she knew one thing for certain.

If Draco was the one threatening him, then Sebastien had something to be very afraid of.

Towards the end of her drink, Sebastien glanced in her direction. Their eyes locked. Hermione didn't look away. She didn't feel scared of him anymore.

He watched her until she paid her tab and left.

 _Perhaps I should do something nice for Draco, to thank him for caring,_ she thought, peering across the cobblestone street at Honeydukes.

The sweets shoppe was lit up and so packed that students were spilling out of the doors. Charmed cupids were zipping in and out of the building, the tiny little angels adding to the atmosphere of the night. Above, the stars twinkled.

She'd be walking back up the hill in the dark, so she didn't see any reason why she couldn't stop and get him a gift.

After making her way through the crowd, the excited buzz of conversation rising around her, she perused the shelves.

What sort of sweet would Draco like, anyway? Was he a chocolate sort of wizard? Or was he the type who preferred sour candies? She tapped her chin. In all of their conversations, he'd never told her what he liked to eat. She knew what his favorite wizarding music band was, why he preferred wearing jumpers to blazers, and what his favorite color was.

 _He likes The Golden Snitches, he likes soft fabrics, and his favorite color is black,_ she thought. _But I have no clue what candy he -_

And then she saw it.

They were on the highest shelf, in their own section. Chocolate-covered Dragon Eyes. Essentially: chocolate-covered rock candy. It wouldn't be _too_ sweet, but the chocolate was the perfect amount of sweetness to add to the rather muted taste that rock candy had.

She gasped. It was perfect.

Hermione spun around, searching for a clerk. It was so full that it was almost overwhelming. She grimaced and turned back around. Perhaps if she stretched up and jumped?

She did so, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. It was _way_ too far, way higher than even Draco could reach, if he were present.

 _Let me just grab my wand,_ she thought to herself, reaching into her sleeve. She wasn't leaving this store without that candy.

"Granger," she heard from behind her. "Come here."

Before she even realized what was going on, someone's hands were on her waist and lifting her into the air. She shrieked and looked down, bewildered.

It was Draco.

There were more than a few pairs of eyes watching them.

"Grab what you were trying to grab," he said. "Or I'm dropping you."

Somewhat panicked, she snatched the box off of the shelf.

"All right," she squeaked. "Put me down, you - you barmy arsehole. Put me down!"

He set her back down on her feet. More people were looking at them than before, especially now that his fingers were skimming her waist over her coat. Hermione couldn't look him in the eyes.

"What?" he said, giving her his trademark lopsided grin.

"I had my wand," she said. "I didn't - I could have - I was about to draw it."

He blanched and stepped back, nearly bumping into a Hufflepuff boy behind him. "Oh."

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Thank you, though."

"What are friends for?" Draco rubbed the back of his neck. He wore a black double-breasted coat with silver buttons and black trousers.

"You look posh," Hermione said, the words falling from her lips before she could snatch them back inside. "Where are you headed?"

"The Three Broomsticks," he said, a lock of his hair falling forward. "Did you - have you gone yet?"

She nodded. "I just finished. It's busy in there, but you should be able to find a table."

"Oh . . . All right." His eyes scanned her. She wore a green dress with a flouncy skirt that fell to mid-thigh, a pair of opaque black tights, her brown winter coat, Muggle combat boots, and a Gryffindor scarf. Her curls were worn loose about her shoulders. "You look beautiful."

Silence.

The air seemed to pull tight with tension.

 _What_ had he just said?

Hermione almost choked on her air. Draco rubbed his jaw with his fingers, averting his eyes. She half-expected him to take his words back, since it was clear he hadn't meant to let them slip.

He didn't.

"Th-Thank you," she stammered, clutching the candy to her chest. "What are you . . . Doing in Honeydukes?"

His lips quirked in a half-smile. "I can't buy sweets?"

"No!" she cried. "It's not that. I just was - are you meeting someone?"

He chuckled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "I was going to."

Hermione's heart sank.

Of course he would be meeting someone. He may not have had many friends, but there was no doubt as to his good looks. He was a Malfoy, too, which meant that there were probably Pureblood witches who would still line up to marry him. On parole or not, Hermione had never heard a single witch say he would be a bad catch.

She didn't know why, but she felt like crying.

"Well, I hope you have fun," she said, echoing his words from earlier. She turned to go to the register, so she could buy the candy anyway. He was her friend, after all.

"What's your favorite sweet?" he said, calling out to her.

She turned, getting jostled by the crowd in the process. "Me? Oh . . . It's silly."

He took a step toward her, his hands in the pockets of his fitted coat. "Tell me."

"Toothflossing Stringmints," she said, her lips pulling into an awkward grimace. "My parents are dentists, so . . ."

"Dentists?"

"They work with teeth," she said.

"I see."

"Well," she said, backing away. "I'll see you."

Before he could say anything else, she turned and went to get in line. It took a good fifteen minutes or so, but once the Dragon Eyes were purchased, she headed outside. She decided to wait for Draco to come out so she could give him the gift before he went to the Three Broomsticks.

After ten minutes or so, he emerged from the crowd in the doorway. She stepped forward so he could see her. His eyes lit up.

Draco produced a small, square package from his pocket, holding it between his middle and ring fingers like a playing card. "Happy Valentine's."

 _He got me something?_ Hermione took it from him with a gentle hand.

Toothflossing Stringmints.

Without hesitation, she held the gift bag she'd purchased out to him. "Happy Valentine's to you, too."

He gave her a wary look and grabbed it by the handle. "Thanks."

"Thanks. Also. To you, I mean."

They stared at one another. Hermione's heart couldn't seem to stop beating its incessant tattoo in her chest.

"So, you're off to the Three Broomsticks, then?" Hermione said.

"Yes," he said. "You?"

"Walking back up the hill."

"Did you want some company?"

Panic bloomed in her chest for reasons unknown. Not because of him, but because she wasn't prepared for that. Not that it was any big deal - it was just a walk - but there was something intense in his eyes. Something that told her she wasn't ready for him to walk her up the hill. Even though that made absolutely no sense.

"Oh, Merlin, no," she said, her eyes wide.

"Right. That was - that's stupid of me." Draco ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back. "Alone in the dark with an ex-Death Eater. Stupid. I hope you have a good Valentine's."

He walked past her, across the street to the restaurant.

Hermione turned to watch him.

_What did I just do?_

O

The exit to the town was dark and empty.

It seemed that everyone had made it to their destinations, or had already left. The streets felt empty. So empty that Hermione's footsteps echoed with every step she took. The buildings seemed almost shapeless in the dark. The moon was new tonight, so the only light she had to see by came from the glow of the stars, and the street lanterns. It was just enough to not need _lumos_.

After Draco had gone into the Three Broomsticks, Hermione had walked around for a while to try and clear her mind. She knew she was overthinking things, but she knew she'd made a mistake. She'd hurt his feelings and she hadn't meant to do that.

 _Was he going to the restaurant because he hoped he would catch me there?_ she thought, feeling sad. _Or am I overthinking that, too?_

 _Hermione_ was the one who kept taking it too far in her mind. _She_ was the one with the crush. But just as he'd said their first day working together in the library, he wasn't a block of ice. The way she'd responded to him, with such enthusiasm, was just cruel. She hadn't been thinking and had just reacted out of the anxiety of being alone with him when she just liked him so much.

She sighed.

What if she'd just ruined their friendship?

Hermione headed through the archway and stopped.

Someone was standing in the middle of the pathway to the hill. They were shrouded in darkness, but they were tall. When they spoke, her stomach roiled. She recognized them in an instant.

"Poor little Mudblood, all alone without her bodyguards."

Sebastien.

"No Potter."

He took a step forward. Hermione's hand went to her sleeve.

"No Weasley."

Another step. Hermione drew her wand.

"No Malfoy."

A third step. Hermione aimed the wand at him, standing sideways with her feet shoulder-width apart and broad shoulders.

"Don't take another step, Selwyn," she said, the calmness of her voice masking the natural fear she felt in her heart. "Else I'll make good on my promise."

Sebastien's dark, menacing laughter crawled into her ears like insects. She shuddered, not moving even as he continued to advance through the shadows.

"I mean it, Selwyn. Stop coming towards me, or I'm going to -"

He whipped his wand out. " _Crucio_!"

" _Protego_!" Hermione cried at the same time, horror filling her body as the curse rebounded off of her silvery-blue shield.

He'd actually tried to _crucio_ her.

The duel commenced.

Their spells flew from the tips of their wands, curses and hexes bouncing back and forth between them. Hermione had never battled a wizard as fast as him before and she found that she was having to cast defensive spells more often than offensive. Her hand grew clammy with sweat from the exertion of casting so many spells so quickly.

" _Impedimenta!"_ Her wand shifted in her hand from the force of the jinx she sent flying his way.

He blocked it easily and sent a curse towards her that caught her in the bicep of her wand arm. It sliced through the layers of fabric she wore, nearly ripping a gash in her flesh. She cried out in pain from the graze, clutching the wound on instinct even as she sent another hex in his direction.

Hermione backed away as he pressed forward, forward, forward, beating her back with silent spells that seemed aimed to hurt or maim her. She narrowly dodged a spell that smelled like fire as it whizzed past her head, and tried to send another spell in return. He parried it, whipped his wand around his head, and cast two spells in quick succession. First, a _muffliato_ , then a loud _confringo_.

A sign above her head blasted into smithereens, the wooden shards raining down upon her head. Hermione dove out of the way, her mind whirling as she realized this was a duel that she was losing. She fell onto her side and twisted as fast as she could, desperation driving her to use a spell she swore to herself she would never use.

" _Sectumsempra_!"

He blocked it.

" _Protego_ ," he said, as though it were funny to him that she'd tried. " _Incarcerous_."

Hermione gasped as vines sprung into existence, wrapping around her entire body. They squeezed tighter and tighter, until her breathing grew restricted and the muscles in her hands cramped. She could hardly get a breath in, let alone cast a spell.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," he said.

Her wand clattered to the ground, taking her hope with it.

She glanced behind her from her place on the cobblestones, wondering why the street was so empty. Why wasn't anyone coming back from their dinner yet? It was almost 9:00. Surely not _everyone_ was still eating? With the _muffliato_ on this area, there was no point in crying out for help. No one but Sebastien would hear her.

The last time Hermione had felt this helpless, Bellatrix was carving her arm open on the floor in the Malfoy Manor.

Sebastien wasn't the monologuing type.

" _Crucio_!"

There was a split second where Hermione felt nothing, and then she fell screaming into an abyss of agony.

The curse slammed into her full force, ripping through her veins. It was like lightning bolts made of acid, taking her consciousness to the edge of sanity with the pain. Like her blood was boiling hotter than the molten rock that crawled beneath the surface of the Earth.

This curse was so much worse than the one Bellatrix had cast. This was a curse Sebastien _meant,_ with every fiber of his being. He wanted her to _know_ he hated her.

It was the Cruciatus of a wizard who didn't care what happened to him afterward, because she wasn't coming out of this alive.

Hermione's mind tried again and again to remove itself from her body, so she wouldn't have to feel anything, but it was like it was trapped. Like the burning was so strong, so malevolent that it wouldn't let her. It wanted her to feel it.

Sebastien wanted her to feel it.

Finally, he lifted his wand and got rid of her bindings. With his magic, he dragged her to her feet and up into the air. She was disoriented, her muscles twitching from the after-effects of the curse. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

Sebastien came closer. "Family is everything, Granger. And you destroyed mine. My father will never see the light of day again."

"No," she choked out as his magic wrapped firmer around her throat. Her feet wriggled, kicking slightly, but she spoke past it. "Your _father_ destroyed your family. He made the choice to join the wrong side."

"The wrong side? Hm." He laughed, and it was like darkness sweeping through her sensibilities. "You chose the right side, yet you're still going to die. How does it feel to be right and still lose?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to reply, but he dropped her suddenly. She crashed to the ground on her kneecaps, crying out in pain.

She glanced to her right. The woods were there. If she ran through them as far as she could go, she could detour around and go up the hill that way. Maybe she could lose him in the trees.

Her wand. Where was her wand? Where was -

"Oh, Granger," came Sebastien's sing-song trill.

Hermione looked up, her hands flat on the stones in front of her. Sebastien had her wand in his hands. Panic. She was panicking. She raised her hand, already screaming the _accio_ spell.

 _Crack_.

Sebastien snapped her wand in half.

Hermione felt it like a mortal wound. She snatched her hands back against her heart and felt tears filling her eyes.

He was going to kill her.

He was a nutter, and he was going to kill her.

Sebastien tossed aside the two halves of her precious wand and then aimed his own at her.

" _Silencio_. Stand up."

Hermione staggered to her feet, massaging her throat as though she could feel the silencing spell freezing her vocal chords in place. She was dizzy from the Cruciatus and she couldn't stop trembling. Her muscles were shaking and twitching. Her teeth clenched from the force of it.

She needed to run.

As Sebastien prepared to cast another spell, Hermione whirled around and made a mad dash back into the town.

Draco. She needed to get to the Three Broomsticks, and to him. He would help her. He would save -

Magic wrapped around her midriff, hauling her up into the air and tossing her like a ragdoll into the alley to her left. She could feel tears on her cheeks, could feel sobs wracking her body, but she couldn't hear them.

Hermione's chest expanded with terror as she was dragged by the hair towards the woods. She kicked her legs, frantic and desperate, her fingers clawing at his, but he didn't seem to care.

"Your personal Death Eater tried to tell me he was going to slit my throat," Sebastien said quietly as he hauled her out of the town and into the trees. Hermione continued to try and scream, attempting to twist out of his hold. "But I'm not scared of him. In fact, I'm not scared of anything. All I feel is hatred. I despise you, Hermione Granger, and I don't think I'm ever going to let go of that."

Dirt, sticks, and rocks scraped against her thighs, ripping her nylons. Hermione had never felt so terrified. He was pulling her into the darkness, so far away that if he killed her - _when_ he killed her, no one would know.

She fought so hard, she lost energy. She fought so hard that her scalp ached from how hard it was being tugged on. She fought so hard that she nearly passed out.

He just kept dragging her.

"I found a nice place for you to die, where settlers used to live," Sebastien said, still just as calm as ever. "I think - I don't know. I found it. And I won't even have to get my hands dirty. It's Sunday, so no one will be coming to Hogsmeade all week. It's cold, too, so you won't have to wait long. I promise."

Dragging. Dragging. Dragging.

Hermione tried to slap at his hand, tried to scrape him so bad that he bled, and he stopped. She rolled onto her stomach and tried to crawl away. All she could think about was the town and Draco. She didn't have a wand. If she could just get back to Hogsmeade, and to Draco, he would save -

A hand on the back of her neck.

He yanked her into the air and cast another spell.

_"Confundus."_

Hermione went limp. Her mind turned to sludge. She didn't know where she was, nor did she know what she was doing.

She knew that the stars were out and that it was nighttime. She knew there were trees around her that were getting thicker. She knew someone was pulling her by the hair deeper into the dark.

But she had no idea what was going on.

"I wasn't _going_ to kill you," Sebastien said after a long silence. "I was just going to scare you a little bit. But that Malfoy tosser brassed me off. He betrayed the Dark Lord. He betrayed our people. And for him to threaten _me_ , one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, for _you_? The moment he said that to me, I knew you were going to have to die."

Dragging.

Dragging.

Dragging.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt to think. Her scalp hurt worse. Where were they? Where was he taking her?

Why?

"Here we are."

Hermione felt herself being pulled to her feet. She was shoved forward, the air rushing out of her as her diaphragm was pressed against the edge of a round well made of stones. She peered over the side, into the darkness. It had no lid, and was clearly ancient.

"I don't like you like this. I like it better when you fight," Sebastien said, twisting her hair. He said a couple of words, and then Hermione became very, _very_ aware of her surroundings.

Counterspells.

She immediately began to fight. She screamed with rage, whirled, and flailed her arms. Sebastien grunted as her fist connected with his chin, causing his jaws to knock together.

Then, as though she weighed no more than a feather, he put his hands on her waist and hefted her into the air.

He was going to throw her down the well. He was going to throw her down the _bloody_ well!

Hermione lost her senses. She screamed. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. She kicked her legs. As sick as it made her, she tried to cling to him, to wrap her arms around his neck. She started to pitch backward. He was cursing, but she couldn't focus on it over the sound of her hoarse shrieking.

No one could hear her because they were too far out. She didn't have a wand anymore. No one had seen her be attacked.

She was going to die.

"Please!" she wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, Sebastien! Sebastien, _please_ don't! _Please_!"

He ignored her, reaching up to prise her quivering fingers from the collar of his coat. She was sitting on the rim of the well now. It felt like the darkness at her back was so deep, so oppressive. She didn't want to go down there. She didn't want to die.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Granger," Sebastien said when he finally freed his coat.

She tried to wrap her legs around his waist. Anything to keep her from falling into that well.

"Stop," he said, his tone a warning. " _Stop_."

"Please, please, _please_ ," she whispered. "We can talk about this. We can -"

She was screaming again.

He bent the fingers on her left hand back far. So far, in fact, that they broke.

Hermione howled in agony. She couldn't believe this was happening. She could not _believe_ she had fought in a war and won, only to be thrown down a well to die in the freezing February cold.

"I'm sorry," Sebastien said, holding her wrists in vicelike grips. He looked into her eyes. "But you're a liar."

Hermione stopped screaming momentarily, sniffling. "W-What?"

"You said it would take more than one round." Sebastien gave her a crestfallen look, as though she truly had lied to him. "But you broke. You're no Golden Girl. You're just a small, scared little girl. And just like my father, you'll die in a cell where no one can hear you, with nothing but the stars to look at."

He shoved.

Hermione lost her balance.

She fell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Trigger warning: Her ordeal in the well is probably triggering. I don't know what I would trigger it for, perhaps just general trauma? Isolation and gore? It was inspired by the end of Megan is Missing, and what I feel like it would feel like to be buried alive.**

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**Small**

**Chapter Five - Safe**

O

Hermione was glad she was a witch.

If it weren't for her magical core keeping her warm, she would be dead. She could feel the cold creeping in along her skin, seeping through, trying to freeze her into a block of ice. She wanted nothing more than to escape it, but the pain wouldn't allow her to.

She was suffering.

Beneath her, the dirt was hard as a rock. The branches that had fallen down over time were sharp, jagged like knives. She could feel the one that was in her thigh shifting with the slightest of movements, causing shockwaves to resonate through her entire body.

Hermione tried a third time to move, but she couldn't. As with all of the other times, jostling her legs caused her great agony. When she'd landed, not only had she twisted and broken her right ankle, but an errant branch had run her through the thigh on the same leg. She'd laid there for a solid fifteen minutes, panicked that that was it, that she was going to die right then. But when she continued to breathe, she'd known that her artery had been missed.

She'd been down here for hours, and while she knew she was fortunate enough to have not punctured an artery, she was going to die.

And she'd already been through the rationalization portion. She'd already hemmed and hawed and thought of solutions that would never work. She'd spent an entire thirty minutes daydreaming about someone stumbling upon the well to rescue her. She'd even tried pushing past the pain of her broken fingers to try and claw her way up the slimy, moss-covered stones.

All _that_ had awarded her was a spider bite and another panic attack.

She wished she had her wand.

Hermione could feel the bugs crawling beneath her, wriggling along her skin. She existed in a constant state of suspended anxiety, the sort that had no foundation and nowhere to go but everywhere. She cycled between barely breathing and hyperventilation, terrified of dying of starvation and hoping to die of the cold.

The stars were so much further away from down here.

She wished she had gone to the Three Broomsticks with Draco. Or asked him to walk her up the hill. Her imagination ran rampant, imagining all sorts of scenarios where she and Draco faced Sebastien Selwyn down. Sebastien was the fastest dueler she'd ever faced, but she knew Draco was faster. A Selwyn wouldn't have stood a chance against a Malfoy.

And Hermione wouldn't be down inside of this well.

Great. She was crying again. She was so sick of crying.

If she'd thought she was small before, it was incomparable to how small she felt down here. The well had collapsed from the bottom at some point, filling with dirt and debris, so she was only twenty feet or so down. But it might as well have been one hundred feet. She didn't know how old it was, but it had to be centuries.

Not many people besides her knew this, but Hogsmeade was a town that had coagulated in one area at the bottom of the hill after Hogwarts castle was built. The original settlers had been much more spread out throughout the woods. The Forbidden Forest had been avoided because of the dangerous creatures that lived within it.

This well that she was at the pit of? It could be more than three or four hundred years old.

She was lucky that there wasn't any water down here.

 _Why didn't I just go with him?_ she thought. Her tears were coming faster than she could wipe them away. _Why didn't I just go with him?_

Hermione wept herself into catatonia.

O

She woke again, for the third time.

Perhaps it was the fourth. Hermione wasn't sure. She went in and out of consciousness, falling asleep to the smell of rot and waking up to the pungence of her blood. Soiling herself, bleeding through her nylons, and breathing.

That was all she had that was tangible.

Was Ron sad that they'd broken up? She hoped he hadn't been too sad. The thought that his last memory with her would be of an awkward Christmas made her feel physically ill. Ron was her best friend, aside from Harry, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. He'd taken the break-up so well, but she knew he was a soft-hearted fellow.

She hadn't even cried for him.

Merlin, she was a horrible person. She'd left her wizard because she had an infatuation with someone who had just stood there and watched her be cursed during the war. She wasn't entirely _happy_ with Ron, but she hated the fact that she'd hurt him.

Now that she was dying, she wondered if maybe she hadn't made a mistake.

Her teeth chattered. Her fingers hurt from more than just broken bones. The cold warred with her magical core, and it had been warring with it for hours.

Her core was losing.

Harry. Poor Harry.

He'd been so wonderful about it all. He hadn't even seemed to mind if she befriended Draco. He'd written to her after New Year's to tell her that he supported her in whatever course her life took, and that nothing she ever did could make him love her less. It was not that she'd expected anything out of him, because she hadn't planned on telling either him or Ron, but it was something she'd needed.

Harry had always been the friend she needed.

She didn't want him to be disappointed in her. She didn't want to die knowing that everyone was disappointed in who she had become after the war. Hermione was supposed to become something. She was supposed to _be_ someone. Anyone. She could have done _anything_.

Everyone wanted her to be strong, but she was at the bottom of a _fucking well_. Why did she have to be strong all the time? Why couldn't everyone just _leave_ her _alone_?!

Sebastien was right.

She was just a small, scared little girl.

Just like that, crying again.

O

Hermione wished she'd gone to see her parents one more time.

They were in Australia. That's what she'd been telling everyone, repeating it like a mantra to convince herself that that's all it was. That it was just a vacation, and that they were coming back so they could be a family again.

It hurt so much worse when she thought about the fact that she'd destroyed her own life just to protect them. When she thought about the fact that her memory charm had been so powerful that she sent their minds back twenty years, and she would never again exist within their universe. She'd effectively killed her parents and orphaned herself.

Now, when she died, it would be like the morning dew evaporating before noon.

Who would miss her?

Harry would. Ron . . . Might. The Weasleys. Hannah liked to have a laugh, but she was certain she would miss her, too.

Draco.

Would Draco miss her?

She felt poorly about thinking the way she had of Draco, for thinking that he was the reason she was a horrible person. For thinking that it was _his_ fault she'd broken up with Ron.

Draco may have just stood there and watched her burn, but he was scared. Scared the way she was now. He hadn't wanted to die. Neither did she. He'd just stood there, and she was crying.

All she had left to do was cry.

"Granger!"

She wished she could have seen him one last time, so she could . . . So she could . . .

Do what?

Tell him she had a crush on him? Tell him she was attracted to his height in a way that was embarrassing and unnatural? For seeking safety in him, even though she had no reason to think he would ever want to provide that for her?

He'd said he was "going to" meet someone at the restaurant.

Who was he going to meet?

Was it Hermione?

" _Granger_! Are you out here? _Granger!_ "

It felt like a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on which perspective she looked at it all. A dream where he secretly fancied her in return. A nightmare where she had an unrequited crush. A dream and a nightmare, all rolled up into one big ball of freezing cold.

Her wound wasn't bleeding anymore because her skin was frozen.

Her fingers were trembling violently, interspersed with the occasional lingering Cruciatus pain.

Cold. So cold. So cold. So -

" _Hermione!"_

Hermione's eyelids snapped open.

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a nightmare and it wasn't a dream. It was real. He was real. Draco was realrealreal -

"Help," she whispered, her throat dry and cracking. "Help . . ."

" _Grangeeeer! Are you out here?!"_

He was calling. She'd never heard him yell, and now he was yelling.

Wait.

She'd heard him yell before. He'd yelled at Harry. He'd even yelled at her the first night they worked on the library restoration. He'd shouted and -

He'd come looking for her.

" _Hermioooooneeeee_!"

Hearing her name upon his lips was like music, rousing her spirit and filling her with a drive to live that hadn't been there before. She felt her eyes welling up with tears again. It was with relief, or - or fear that he might walk past - she didn't know. She just knew that he was up there.

Draco was here, and it was her turn to yell.

" _Help me!"_ Her voice tore from her sore, dry throat. "Please! _Please, help me!"_

And then she saw it.

His face.

His beautiful, wonderful, magical, fantastic _face_.

It was full of panic, full of horror, but it was - his - face.

"Granger?! Are you - _what_ the actual _fuck_?! _How the fuck did you -_ "

She cut him off with a loud, desperate sob. "Please, get me out of here. Please, please. Please, get me out."

"I'm gonna get you out, Hermione. I promise," he said, his brows coming together on his forehead. "Fuck - are you - are you _hurt_? What happened? How did you -"

Hermione struggled to gain her faculties. She knew she needed to tell him what was injured. He wasn't a Healer, but she knew that if he were, she would need to tell him her injuries if she could. And since she could, since she was able to talk, she needed to tell him.

"My ankle is broken," she said around the stammer of her hypothermia. "My ankle, and my - my fingers." She swallowed, the sides of her throat sticking together. "And there's a - a branch through my thigh."

"Through your _-_?" He looked enraged. Horrified. " _What the fuck happened_?!"

"Please, stop yelling," she whimpered. "Just get me out of here."

"Uhh - okay, okay, okay," he said, holding his fingers up. She saw him casting his gaze about. "I need a - okay. One second!"

He disappeared, and Hermione felt her panic returning.

Was it a dream? Was she imagining this?

What if he didn't come back?

"Draco?" she called, her voice high and reedy. " _Draco_?!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm here. I'm here."

"He broke my wand. He snapped it."

"He? Who?" He looked confused, and then he shook his head. "I know. I mean - I don't know _who_ broke your wand, but I know your wand is broken. I found the pieces on my way here."

Hermione began trying to sit up. She had questions, many questions about how he knew to come find her and how he knew where she was, but right now? She just wanted him to get her out of here.

The pain increased.

She went limp again.

He disappeared.

" _Draco_?!" she screamed, losing herself to the panic again. " _Draco, please! Please, don't leave me!"_

 _"_ Granger!" He reappeared, again, and held a stick in one hand and his wand in the other. "I'm _right. Here._ I'm going to transfigure this into a rope and pull you up. All right?"

"But," she said, sniffling, "you're on parole."

He gave her a strange look. "You think I care about that? They can haul me the fuck off. I'm getting you out of there."

Hermione felt her heart, weak though it was, skipping a beat. She wiped her tears with cramped hands once more. She didn't care that she must look awful. She didn't care that she'd soiled herself.

She just wanted out.

The rope was lowered down. She wasn't sure if she could grab onto it, with only one hand to work with. She began to shake.

What if this didn't work?

"Draco, my hand - I don't know if I can - can -" She took a deep, quivering breath. Her eyes stung, welling up again. "What if you can't get me out?"

He gave her a fierce look. "I'm _getting_ you out of this fucking well, Hermione."

When he held her gaze with his own, she felt her breathing slowly becoming steady again. There was a seriousness in his eyes that told her that no matter what it took, she was not going to die in this well. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, _okay?_

Hermione closed her eyes against her tears and nodded, her chin trembling. She was going to have to bear the pain. Even if it was unbearable.

If she wanted to live, she needed to grab onto that rope.

"Wrap your hands around it," Draco said, his words clear and concise, "and I'll cast a sticking charm. Then, I'm going to cast a Featherlight charm and pull you up. But your -"

"My leg -"

"Yes, your leg is going to come free. Your thigh, I mean. How long have you been down there?"

"Since last night. Right after you - I mean, I walked around for a - a bit, but - I should have stayed with you." She could feel the ache in her throat again as she remembered how she'd hurt him. "I'm sorry. I'm so - so sorry -"

"It's okay, it's okay," he said quickly. "It's okay. We'll talk about it when you're up here, with me. Ready?"

Hermione closed her eyes again, breathing deep and even. She nodded. This was no time to fall apart. She was the luckiest witch in the entire world right now, and she didn't need to mess that up by weeping and dissolving into her emotions.

It wasn't the time to act small.

"I'm ready," she said.

Draco gave her a grin. The lopsided one that never failed to make her stomach flop. It filled her with hope.

She was going to be okay.

"Deep breaths, yeah?" he said, his voice slightly quieter. He had one hand on the transfigured rope, and the other on his wand.

Hermione nodded again.

It was time.

_Breathe._

She raised her arms. They trembled and ached. It was still so cold, but she fought it with her unhurt hand, pushing past the hypothermia to wrap her fingers around the rope. She heard Draco's voice as though it were in the distance, telling her that it was good enough - that she didn't need to use her other hand, but she didn't want anything to go wrong.

Draco grimaced, so she knew it must have looked awful.

All four of her forefingers were bent at an unnatural, backward angle. There would be no using them to assist.

"It's all right," he assured her. "You only need one hand for this."

She waited while he cast the charms, and then she steeled herself.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe -_

As he began to pull her up, Hermione felt the agony intensifying in her thigh wound. The branch was sliding out of her flesh, tearing the scabs. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth against the scream that wanted to issue forth.

"My leg, my leg, my leg," she said, and then she began to whimper. "Draco, my leg!"

"I know," he said, and his voice was calm in spite of the obvious concern in his eyes. "I know. I'm getting you out."

Her leg pulled free of the branch with a wet _squelch_ ing sound, and then she was bleeding. A lot. She could feel it trickling out of both sides of her thigh, the front and back. It hadn't gotten her artery - thank _Merlin_ it hadn't - but she knew she couldn't afford to have anything else weakening her.

And it hurt. Oh, it hurt.

Hermione saw black spots swimming at the edges of her vision. She hugged the rope as tight as she could with her arm, ducking her head to try and will herself to stay conscious. She'd never felt this much pain. Not in Fifth Year, when Dolohov had cursed her. Not even in Seventh Year, when Bellatrix cursed her.

This was the pinnacle.

"Don't drop me," she said in a tiny voice. "Please, _please_ don't let me fall."

"I'm not gonna drop you, Hermione," he said as he continued to pull. "I won't let you fall."

When she was near the top, she felt Draco's hands hooking around the backs of her under-arms, pulling her the rest of the way. Her vision was blurred, but his voice. His voice was like a soothing balm to her ears. The heat of his body sunk in through her clothing as she wrapped her good arm around his neck, clinging to him with all of her being.

"Brave, tough Gryffindor," he said, almost cooing it. "You're all right, then. You're all right."

Hermione's legs slid over the rim of the well as he walked backward. The stone scraped her wound, jostled her broken ankle, and she cried out in anguish. The moment she was clear, she felt her panic returning. The relief and terror mingled, overwhelming her, and she clung to him.

Draco sank to the leafy ground. She curled up slightly in his lap, her hurt leg outstretched over the edge of his thigh. His other arm wrapped around her back, rubbing her right arm over the sleeve of her coat. The movements hurt her broken fingers and she was bleeding on his trousers, but she was in such a state of shock that it didn't faze her.

It was agony, but she didn't care. She just wanted to feel him, to feel that she was alive and get warmth.

"Here," Draco said, and he pulled out his wand. "This won't do much, but it'll stop the blood until we get you to the castle. _Episkey."_

Hermione felt the top layers of skin on the front end of her thigh wound knitting together. She winced and gasped as he nudged her knee up so he could cast _episkey_ on the back. She didn't try to stretch her leg out again.

"How did you find me?" she whispered, her teeth beginning to chatter again.

"You weren't at breakfast," he said. "When you weren't at lunch, either, I walked up to your table and asked if anyone had seen you. Finnegan said you never even came back to the common room, and he was up late."

"What time is it?"

"It's still lunchtime. It's about 12:30," he said.

"How did you -" She stopped to swallow against the dryness of her throat. "How did you know to come out here?"

"I just . . ." He sighed, and she felt his chin on top of her head and his voice rumbling in his chest. "Selwyn approached me after my first class and told me it was 'cold enough to freeze mud last night,' and I thought it was bizarre. The last time I spoke to him was weeks ago, when I told him I would slit his throat if he ever spoke to you again."

Hermione didn't know how to react to that. She didn't think she _could_ react. She was traumatized.

Draco kept speaking. "So when Finnegan told me you never came back, I figured I'd come down and check around town. But then I saw the broken pieces of your wand . . ." He produced one from the pocket of his coat. Hermione just stared at the splintered wood, feeling a dull throbbing in her chest. "One in the alley by the gate, and one was at the edge of the trees. The rest was instinct. I've been calling your name and walking for forty minutes."

 _Forty minutes. No wonder no one heard me screaming in the beginning, after Sebastien left._ Hermione turned her face into Draco's chest, not allowing herself to think about the way they were sitting.

"It was so cold," she whispered. "I thought I was going to die. I thought I was . . ."

Her emotions rushed towards her at speeds she wasn't capable of parrying.

She dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs.

Draco's arm tightened around her. "No, no, no. Come on. It's okay. You're all right now."

Hermione clutched the lapel of his coat with her unhurt hand, feeling her tears go from hot to cold as they met the Winter air. She knew this would be mortifying if she were not in this position, crying on him like this, but she was not in a normal position. She was so sure she was going to die down there that it just felt silly to pretend to be strong.

Here, enveloped in his arms, she felt safe.

So she wept.

"How'd you get in there?" he asked in a gentle voice, wiping the tears from her face with his thumb. "How did you fall?"

"I didn't fall," she sobbed. "He threw me down. He - he _attacked_ me -"

" _Who?"_ he growled, and she felt his body go rigid. "What? Who attacked you? _What_?"

Hermione began to babble through her wails. "Sebastien Selwyn! He accosted me at the gate and was - he was too fast. He's an expert duelist. He broke my wand and dragged me - he dragged me out here. I screamed. I screamed and I fought . . . _So_ hard." She began to cry harder, to the point where she could hardly inhale. "I begged him to talk about it, I did, but - but he was so . . . So _set_. He threw me down. He threw me -" She gasped and tried to sit up. "We need to go to McGonagall. We need to- to go to -"

"Okay, okay! Shh, shh, shh," Draco said, wrapping both arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She felt his fingers sinking into her dirty curls, combing her scalp in a way that instantly soothed her. "We'll go to McGonagall after we get you to the Infirmary. You need potions."

"You'll have to help me up."

"No," he said. "I'm carrying you."

Hermione felt her cheeks flushing. "No. No, you don't have to -"

"Stop," he said, his voice hard. She felt his fingers underneath her chin, tilting it up. Her skin warmed where he touched her. "It's okay to need help. It's okay to be scared. You don't have to do everything by yourself all the time."

"Okay," she whispered. "But we _need_ to go to McGonagall."

"We're _gonna_ go to her, right after you've been treated."

And so began the painstaking process of getting Hermione onto her feet. He was going up the hill, so she was going to have to ride on his back. There was no way he could carry her in his arms that entire way.

He cast a numbing charm on her leg that would definitely not be enough to keep the agony at bay for long, turned, and then crouch down.

"Come here," he said, his voice soft even though she was hesitating.

"What if I fall?" she said, hopping slightly from trying not to put weight on her hurt leg.

"I'm not gonna let you fall," he said, and she saw him widening his fingers behind him. "Come _here_."

She did, groaning in pain as his hands wrapped around the backs of her thighs below her rear. Her wound was a bit lower than where his fingers were, but it still hurt badly enough to make her feel nauseous and faint.

So faint, in fact, that she knew she wasn't going to be able to stay conscious.

"Hey," he said.

"Hm?" she mumbled.

"I've got you now, Granger."

Hermione hoped he didn't get in trouble for using magic outside of class.

She blacked out.

O

Hermione woke in the Infirmary.

She was lying in a soft bed, with blankets pulled up to her waist. It smelled horrid. Like blood and dirt and ammonia. Her body ached, and there was a throbbing in her thigh. Her ankle felt better, which was good, and her throat wasn't dry anymore. Also good. She wriggled her fingers. They were intact, better.

Good.

In a chair, beside the bed, sat Draco. He was leaning forward with his elbows perched on his thighs and his fingers laced between them. He was staring at the floor with a troubled expression on his face, his brow furrowed deeper than she'd ever seen it. His hair was falling forward, into his eyes, but he didn't seem to care enough to push it back. He wore the same clothes that she'd seen him in - his trousers and coat - and she wondered if he'd left the room at all.

Her cheeks flared bright red.

"I smell awful," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Shut up," he said, peering down at her as though he were inspecting her. "What sort of friend would I be if I held that against you?"

"The kind who saved my bloody life," she said, her eyelids fluttering.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he murmured.

"I'm sorry you had to come at all."

His eyes flashed. "What did I tell you, Granger? _Never_ apologize to me."

Hermione gave him a small smile and then pushed herself to sit up. "Where is Madam Pomfrey?"

"She's -"

"Right here!" Madam Pomfrey bustled out, carrying a tray with two small cups on it. She presented it to Hermione. "Drink up, my dear, and get used to it."

Hermione did as she asked, pulling a face at the bitter taste of both potions. "What are these?"

"The one on the left is a fortification potion," Madam Pomfrey said, her blue eyes dancing back and forth between both Draco and Hermione. "And the one on the right is a restorative potion for your muscles. You'll need to take two sips of each per day - morning and night - and with time, the wound in your leg should completely heal. Until then, you'll unfortunately have a bit of a limp and some pain."

Hermione nodded, feeling dismayed. Going to class and working on HRC tasks would be very difficult if she had trouble walking.

"Could I take any pain potions for that?" Hermione asked, frowning with worry.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a sympathetic look. "Unfortunately, no. The lily petals in the fortification potion seem to react poorly with the anaesthetic in pain potion, and without the fortification, you could have a limp for much longer. We don't want that, do we dear?"

Hermione felt her hand on her shoulder, and she flinched.

Draco's eyes narrowed as he gazed upon them, but he said nothing.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said. "When can I have the potions?"

"Oh, just let me use the loo for a moment, and then I'll bring you the dosages you'll be needing. I'm sure you'll be quite well-taken care of with Mr. Malfoy here."

She gave them each a lingering smile, and then bustled off to the adjoining room.

When they were alone, Hermione offered Draco a smile of her own.

"You've been here the whole time?"

"Maybe," he said, his lips quirking. "So, how do you feel?"

"Much better than I did last time. I need a shower, though." She wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, you do." He was grinning.

A few moments passed, and then he spoke again.

"Do you think you could . . . Tell me what happened?"

Hermione opened her mouth, her mind spinning back to the events of the night before. Images flashed through her head, taking her right back to the moment Sebastien attacked her. The smell of spellfire in the air. The sound of silence that surrounded his calmly-spoken macabre words as he cast _silencio_ on her and dragged her across dirt, sticks, and rocks for over a mile. The smell of the Earth as she was dragged further and further into the woods.

"I don't know if I . . ." She closed her eyes, frowned again. Swallowed. "I don't think I can."

He was quiet for a moment and then, "Would you be opposed to showing me?"

"Showing you?"

He averted his eyes. "Through Legilimency."

Hermione blinked. He'd used magic against his parole agreement, and now he wanted to do it again? She pursed her lips, twisting them to the side. She didn't want him to be punished, but she also didn't want to hurt his feelings like she had in front of Honeydukes.

"It's not that I don't trust you," she said, looking into his eyes. "I just know that you could get in real, _serious_ trouble for using your wand while on parole."

"I told you -"

"I know you don't care," Hermione said, tucking one of her curls behind her ear, "but _I_ do. Who's going to help me around this castle if you're in Azkaban?"

He arched one eyebrow. "You assume I'm going to help you around the castle?"

Hermione grimaced. "I had hoped . . . ?"

He chuckled and sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin with his hand. "You don't have any Gryffindor or Hufflepuff friends to help you?"

Hermione's lips twitched. He was right. What was she thinking, asking him? She took a deep breath.

"Well, I suppose I could ask Hannah. She may be able to -"

"I was kidding, Hermione," he said, and then he leaned forward. "I'll help you, but you gotta tell me what happened. What if . . . What if you used Legilimency, and pressed the images towards me?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side. Theoretically, that could work, but Hermione wasn't so certain. She would have to use his wand and, provided it didn't reject her, then that would still be magic being performed from it. Would they know it was Hermione who cast it? Or would they think it was Draco?

"You're going to have to relive it for McGonagall," Draco said, his voice quiet. "You know that, right?"

Hermione looked at him, feeling like she was seeing through him. He was right. She _was_ going to have to relive it.

Because once McGonagall heard what had happened, Sebastien would be arrested. Once he was arrested, she would have to press charges. Once he was charged, there would be a trial. She would be reliving this trauma again, and again, and again.

She might as well start now.

"All right," she whispered. "Let's try it. I'm not very good at Legilimency, but I can do my best. Will it hurt?"

"No, Granger," he murmured, shaking his head. "I would never hurt you. Just let me see, so I can properly take care of you."

He stood up and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. She tried not to cringe away, knowing that she smelled absolutely abhorrent. He paid no attention to it, not seeming to care as he held his wand out to her. She took it, looking up and finding herself feeling more comfortable with him sitting by her than she had when he was in the chair.

It took several tries, but on the end of the fourth one, she felt their minds connect. Their eyes remained locked, honey-brown to silver, and she tried rifling through her memories. It was like walking through a messy room with a visitor standing at the door, waiting.

When she found the memories, she carried them over to her guest and pushed them into his metaphorical arms.

The moment he had hold of them, she felt his magic tethering to hers. It pulled her through the doorway and across the bridge between worlds. Where the inside of her mind had been white and blank, his was dark and organized. She could see all of his memories stacked neatly in rows, playing nonstop like film reels. It was akin to walking through a Muggle shopping mall.

Then, like an icy-cold set of fingers, her attention was dragged sharply to the side.

And they sunk into her psyche.

" _Poor little Mudblood, all alone without her bodyguards. No Potter. No Weasley. No Malfoy."_

" _Crucio!"_

" _All I feel is hatred. I despise you, Hermione Granger, and I don't think I'm ever going to let go of that."_

" _I've found a nice place for you to die."_

" _I wasn't going to kill you. I was just going to scare you a little bit. But that Malfoy tosser brassed me off. He betrayed the Dark Lord. He betrayed our people."_

" _The moment he said that to me, I knew you were going to have to die."_

" _I like it better when you fight."_

" _Please! Please, Sebastien! Sebastien, please don't!"_

" _I'm sorry it had to be this way, Granger."_

" _You're just a small, scared little girl."_

" _And just like my father, you'll die in a cell where no one can hear you, with nothing but the stars to look at."_

Hermione was falling. She was screaming and she was falling. Through the air, through the darkness, and into the shadows. Everything hurt.

Draco was in the bed with her, his arms wrapped around her body with one hand cupping the side of her head.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he said under his breath, frantic. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't realize - I didn't know that - fuck. I'm sorry."

Hermione trembled as though the curse was still vibrating through her body, sizzling its way along her veins. As though Sebastien was standing at the end of the bed with his wand pointed at her face.

"He was so . . . Cold," she said, merely a breath. "He just wanted me to suffer, and he felt no qualms about it. He wanted me to die."

Draco's fingers sifted through her tangled curls as best they could. When he spoke, his voice was as dark as the inside of his mind had been. Like shadows dripping from the backside of the sun. "He _crucio_ ed you."

Hermione nodded and pulled away from him. She held her hands up so he could see the convulsions. "How long do these last?"

He stared at her quivering hands for a long time in complete silence.

"Draco, how long do these last?" she repeated, raising her voice to break his reverie.

"Huh?" He jolted. "Oh . . . It - It depends on how strong the curse was. From what I saw?" He lowered his voice, and it almost sounded like a growl when he said, "Perhaps three or four months."

Hermione let out a sound of dismay. "Three or four _months_?"

Madam Pomfrey burst back into the room, carrying a small parcel in her hands. "I apologize that it took me so long. I heard screaming! What . . . Happened . . . ?"

She trailed off and looked at them in shock. Draco practically leapt away from Hermione, stepping from the bed and pushing his hand through his hair. Hermione put on a tremulous smile.

"I'm all right, Madam Pomfrey," she said. "I thought I saw something."

"Yes, well . . ." Madam Pomfrey gave her a short nod. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. Mr. Malfoy told me you fell down a well outside of Hogsmeade?"

"Yes," Hermione said. There was no reason to tell Madam Pomfrey about Sebastien. Hermione wanted to be the one to tell McGonagall what had happened. If she was going to press charges, she wanted to be the one to advocate for herself.

"This prescription should cover the next thirty days," Madam Pomfrey said, eyeing Draco a bit warily as she handed Hermione the parcel. "When you run out, just pop on in for a refill. All right?"

"Thank you," Hermione said. "When can I leave?"

"Right now, if you'd like," said Madam Pomfrey as she crossed her arms over her chest. "If Mr. Malfoy would agree to escort you, just in case you lose your steam, then right now is fine with me."

"I am a little peckish," Hermione said, looking at Draco. "We need to go to McGonagall, as well."

"Well, dinner's going to start in thirty minutes or so," Draco said, rising to his feet. "I can help you to the Prefect's bathroom, and then we can go down to the Dining Hall. We can talk to her there?"

Hermione nodded. She was sure she could handle a bath alone; he could wait outside the doors. As long as she didn't have to go into the Dining Hall smelling this way.

The sooner she could ensure Sebastien Selwyn was arrested, the better.

Draco helped Hermione off of the bed. He pocketed his wand along the way, and then took both of her hands to walk her forward a couple of shaky steps. Hermione felt even shorter than usual, her back slightly hunched from the exhaustion of her ordeal.

 _He has awfully soft hands,_ she thought, her eyes scanning his slender fingers wrapped around her own.

It felt like her palms and fingertips were tingling. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. They'd gone from her being overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on her waist, to him rescuing her from a well, to carrying her on his back from Hogsmeade to the Hogwarts Infirmary, and were now holding hands.

She knew that sometime later, when her mind wasn't so cloudy with lingering anxiety, she would feel gleeful over these developments.

For now, she just wanted to take Sebastien down.

"How is the pain, lovely?" Madam Pomfrey said, brow furrowed.

"It's . . . Not too bad," Hermione said. Her leg was sore, to say the least, and it felt weaker at the thigh. She wouldn't completely crumple, but it would be slow going. "I think it's manageable."

"And if it becomes unmanageable," Draco said, adjusting so that his left hand was on her lower back and his right hand held her own, "then I'll be here."

Hermione ducked her head, trying to hide her smile.

"My, my," Madam Pomfrey said. "I am delighted to see this change in you, Mr. Malfoy. How very kind and mature of you."

"Bygones," Draco said, and Hermione felt his eyes on the top of her head. "Bygones."

"Take good care of our Hermione, you hear me? We're lucky she fell. It could be worse." Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "Someone could have pushed her!"

Draco's fingers tightened around her own.

"And it would be the last thing that wizard did with his hands. I'd make sure of it."

The door swung shut behind them.

Hermione swallowed hard, and she believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trigger Warning for violence and Hermione has two panic attacks and one uses the words "I c**t brea*he" which could be triggering due to current events. Also, I wrote Hermione very submissive and dealing with anxiety and trauma in this story. If this triggers you because you prefer her strong, this story will not be for you! I prefer her this way when reading, and I write what I like to read. If you made it this far, thank you!**

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**Small**

**Chapter Six - Storm**

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Hermione would need help in the bath.

There was no way around it. The pain in her leg was so great that she was on the verge of tears again. Only the determination to keep herself moving forward kept her from crying. That, and being tired from crying for hours in the well.

Sweat dripped in a profuse manner down the center of her back, rolling down her spine as though it wanted to remind her that she was delusional. She needed a bath, yes, but there was no way she was going to be able to take one without help getting in and out.

She was going to have to ask Draco.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd been barmy over his height, doing anything she could do to get him to touch her. Now, his hands were on her hand and back, and she was nervous about the loo.

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Gods.

 _The loo_.

Hermione blanched as they made their slow way towards the staircases.

 _How am I supposed to sit down on the loo? How am I supposed to_ stand up _from it?!_

"You're breathing funny." Draco's voice penetrated her thoughts. "All right?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Because . . . You're breathing funny?"

"Well, I'm fine," she said. _And we will cross_ that _bridge when we come to it._

Right now, they needed to cross the massive bridge that was the bath. Because Hermione was not going to be able to sit down in that bathtub without assistance. This had nothing to do with attraction, or height, or her waist, or any of that silly stuff.

There was _no_ solution right now.

She was going to have to get _naked_ -

"What in the _world_ do we have here?"

The voice that came from behind them in the staircase room grated on Hermione's ears. She'd know that voice anywhere. Her eyes narrowed and even though Draco turned around, Hermione refused to turn more than her head.

Pansy Parkinson.

She stood there wearing her school uniform, her robes open and hanging off of one shoulder. One of her fingers twirled a strand of her elbow-length black hair. Her full, glossed lips parted in a smile that Hermione could only describe as curious. Perhaps triumphant. Or maybe even mischievous.

"Pansy," Draco greeted. "On your way to supper?"

"No," Pansy replied with a smirk in her voice. "I am not. What are _you_ two doing?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Hermione said. She started to turn, but the pain in her leg caused her to lose her balance. She teetered to the side, stumbling into Draco, whose hand slid from her lower back to curve around her hip.

 _How mortifying_.

"I mean, come on," Pansy said with a laugh. "Are you serious? His arm's around you, Granger. What, are you two _dating_?"

Hermione flushed and Draco's arm dropped, but he didn't let go of her hand. She turned her head and looked at Pansy, as did he.

"No," they said at the same time.

Pansy scoffed. "Right. Well, where are you off to?"

"The Prefect's bathroom," Draco bit out through clenched teeth.

"Gonna use the loo together?" Pansy giggled, her blue eyes twinkling like crystals. " _Come on_."

" _For your information,_ " Hermione cried out, snapping. "I would like to take a bloody bath! Is that all right with you?! Do you not _smell_ me?!"

Pansy's jaw hung open.

" _Granger,"_ Draco said under his breath, squeezing her hand again.

"No, no," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's all right. And no, Granger, I can't . . . Oh. There it is. Bloody Hell."

Hermione's cheeks heated again and she looked away.

"She fell," Draco said quickly. "And got stuck out in the woods. I found her."

"You found her." Pansy raised one eyebrow.

"Yes," Hermione said. "And I need a bath, so that I can breathe again. Is that _okay_ with you?"

Pansy nodded in understanding, pursing her lips. Hermione saw her tongue in her cheek. "All right. I see. Well, you can't go take a bath with Draco in the room. I'll help you."

Hermione tried to protest as Pansy came and grasped her other hand and elbow. Draco didn't seem to see an issue with it, so it was two against one. All Hermione could do was allow herself to be passed into Pansy's hold and walked the rest of the way to the bathroom.

"I'll wait here," Draco said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Pansy shot him a look. "You can't just . . . Go to supper?"

"It's best I wait," Draco said, and he gave her a look.

Hermione looked behind her, between the two of them.

It was times like these that she remembered that it was abnormal for Hermione and Draco to be friends. This was their Eighth Year, a year that wouldn't even exist without the war. If the war hadn't happened? They wouldn't be here in the castle right now. They wouldn't be friends.

She never would have been thrown down the well.

So, when Pansy and Draco exchanged glances, Hermione knew that it was like they were speaking to one another in the silence. The silent language of best friends, or friends who had known one another for a long time.

"Okay," Pansy said after a moment, and then the taller witch looked down at Hermione. "How about we just get you in the bath, and then I go get you some clothes. I'm sure I have something I can transfigure to fit you."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "That's very . . . Kind of you."

"Any mate of Draco's is a mate of mine," Pansy said with a close-lipped smile.

Hermione had no idea what had transpired, but she was certain that something in the air had changed. Something like . . .

Acceptance?

Hermione cast one last glance over her shoulder. Draco wasn't looking at her. He was gazing down the corridor.

And then they were inside of the Prefect's bathroom.

"Well," Pansy said as she helped Hermione towards the tub. She pulled out her wand and cast the charms to turn the special faucets. "He's smitten."

" _What_?" Hermione cried.

"Oh, don't play coy," Pansy said in a flippant voice. "It's not cute. You're, what? Eighteen? Seventeen?" She frowned. "Eighteen. You're eighteen, so there's no reason to act like you've never had a wizard before. You _know_ what it looks like when a wizard is interested in you."

Hermione's mind spun, dancing back and forth between agonizing over Pansy's words and focusing on her weak, aching thigh. She could only scoff. She didn't know what to say. Before the well, she might have felt her stomach flip. But now?

Now, she felt like her entire body was full of sludge. Like it had crept in through her open wounds in the dirt, poisoning her blood and turning it heavy with the sickening weight of so many things. Fear, shame, anger . . . So much negativity, and there was nowhere for it to go. It would just stay inside of her and fester in the open spaces around her organs.

There was no room for her stomach to twist.

In any case, there was no way. Hermione's infatuation was just as small as the rest of her. If there had been anything there, she messed up her chances by not going to the Three Broomsticks with him.

Hermione undressed, hunching to hide her breasts from view. Thankfully, Pansy was mature about the rest of her nudity, because her eyes didn't drop.

"Don't you wish your little Weasley was here?" Pansy said as she helped Hermione ease into the hot water. "Instead of you know, _me_ helping you."

Hermione felt her hackles rising, even as the warmth of the water settled into her bones. "You mean Ronald? Because we broke up."

"No," Pansy said, stepping back to put her hands on her hips. "I mean the little weasel. His sister."

Hermione shot her an incredulous look. "The little weasel?"

"It's not _my_ job to know everyone's name. The Ginner person. The Gineva. You know, Gi -"

" _Ginny_?" Hermione shot her an offended look. She began to wash herself, keeping her back to Pansy. "Ginny is playing Quidditch for Ireland now. She chose not to come back to Hogwarts."

"Dropped out?" Pansy let out a laugh. "The Weasley family is the _strangest_ Pureblood wizarding family in Britain. My mother and father would _murder_ me if I didn't graduate."

"Yeah, well, the Weasleys are a little more _loving_ than your parents," Hermione said with a sniff.

"You're a nasty little mouse, aren't you?" Pansy said, reaching over to give one of Hermione's curls a sharp yank. "I see why he fancies you."

"He doesn't _fancy_ me." Hermione rolled her eyes, focusing on scrubbing all of the dirt and grime off of her body. She knew it was cleansing her - she could see the water swirling with brown and red - but she felt like she was covered in grit. She felt like no matter how much she scrubbed, she couldn't get clean.

What if she could never rid her skin of Sebastien's touch?

"You've been spending a lot of time with my Draco, you know," Pansy said, perching on the edge of the tub. She swept her fingers through her long hair and bit her lower lip. "If you're not _together,_ are you . . . You know, sleeping together?"

"No," Hermione said, her cheeks flaring again. "And I'd appreciate it if you refrain from starting any rumors." She cast her a side-long glance. "Besides. You have plenty on your plate with the HRC, don't you? Tea with McGonagall to worry about, too. There's no time to be starting rumors."

Pansy giggled. ". . . What?"

"Don't play coy," Hermione said in a mocking tone, wrinkling her nose behind her hands as she washed her face. "It's not cute."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're on about," Pansy said with her eyebrows up. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs. "The last thing I would do is have tea with that old crone. Do you know she _refuses_ to give me anything more than an A in Transfiguration?"

Another sideways look from Hermione. "That's because your Transfiguration is passable, at best."

Pansy let out a squeal of shock and reached down to splash Hermione. "You are _delightful_. I can _definitely_ see why Draco likes you, because - _wow_."

 _No,_ Hermione thought, giving Pansy a nasty look. _I just don't trust you._

"I do not have _tea_ with _McGonagall_ ," Pansy said, throwing her gaze Heavenward. She leaned back on her hands and bounced her foot absentmindedly. "Hey . . . Is this about that stupid list? Hannah said you thought -"

" _Hannah_ does not know what she's talking about," Hermione said as she lathered shampoo on her scalp. Typically, she would only wash her curls once per week, but after lying in the dirt overnight? Wash day was here early.

"I don't care about that list," Pansy said, laughing. "I don't think McGonagall even _likes_ me. Even if she was writing my name at the top on purpose, I wouldn't care. I don't care about those lists. I just want to throw parties; that's the only reason why I'm on the HRC."

"Really? The _only_ reason? You don't care about the school, or the battle? The damage?"

Pansy pulled her head back on her shoulders, lifting one hand to straighten out her skirt. "Of course I care about those things. But I don't _excel_ in those tasks for the HRC. I _excel_ at throwing parties. Meanwhile, _you_ excel at organization, which is why you're signed up for every single task."

Hermione stared at her, narrowing her eyes. She wanted to argue that, but she couldn't. Pansy was right. It did make sense that Pansy would be the one throwing any sort of committee gatherings. Hermione wasn't interested in doing those things, and that - that was okay.

But now that she'd come so close to dying? Hermione couldn't see how she was going to be able to do all of those tasks with a leg that caused her so much pain. She wondered whether or not the lists were as important as she once thought.

Lists, marks, essays, homework . . .

It all felt so empty and pointless when she could freeze to death in less than twenty-four hours.

Hermione had just survived being at the bottom of a well, dying. HRC tasks didn't matter. Hogwarts castle would still be restored, with or without her. Lists meant _nothing_.

She wondered if maybe she shouldn't just pass the Snitch on to someone else.

"So, what happened?" Pansy asked, pushing her hair back again. When she spoke, she said the words in a sing-song manner. "Did you - _fall_?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "And I need to hurry, so we can go to McGonagall. You said you could get some clothes?"

Pansy gasped, her eyes popping open. "Whoops! I'll be right back! Here, there's towels over there and - just - I'll be back!"

And just like that, she took off like a shot.

After Pansy left the room, Hermione hurried to finish the rest of her bath. The last thing that she wanted to do was sit in her own filth for longer than she had to. It was like marinating in her trauma. And she was pruning.

Hermione waited for a few minutes, but Pansy still hadn't returned. The water was starting to become overwhelming, with the steam and the dirt she could see in it . . . It was like all of the water that should have been in the bottom of the well was now around her. It felt like she was drowning.

She wanted to get out. Now. _Now_.

Without thinking, Hermione stood to her feet and tried to get out of the tub. She stepped on her left foot just fine, but the moment she was out - the moment she put weight on her right leg - a violent pain rocketed up the length of her body. She cried out in agony, crumpling to the floor in a dripping, nude heap.

Draco burst into the room, his eyes wild. The moment he saw her, he dashed over. He swiped one of the towels from a golden rack on the wall and knelt before her, handing it to her. She pulled it tight around her torso, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

Then, he scooped her up into his arms. She yelped, trying to keep the towel closed. He set her on the edge of the tub.

"I wouldn't have looked," he said in a quiet voice, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I believe you," Hermione whispered, and then she winced. Her leg hurt worse now. Holding the towel shut with one hand, she pressed her fingers gingerly to her bare thigh. She fought the urge to whimper. The feeling was intense. Acute.

She had a round, mottled scar the size of a can lid.

"Granger," he said, and he stood beside her, his knee brushing her leg. "What is it?"

"A scar." She sighed. "It's not as if I don't have enough of those."

"Whatever," he said, and she looked up at him. He grinned, flashing pearly-white teeth. "I'm the one with scars. You should see me without a shirt. It's like latticework."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I've got a scar from Dolohov across my chest that you wouldn't believe. And then . . ." She trailed off, glancing down at her arm. It was folded across her chest, keeping the towel closed. "You know, this one."

"May I?"

Hermione blinked, staring with wide eyes. He was holding out his hand to her. Did he want to . . . See her scar?

She glanced at the door. Dinner had already started. They were definitely late. And Pansy had to go all the way from this floor, down to the Slytherin common room, and then come back.

A swallow of her throat. The memories were there. They were always there, lurking at the back of her mind like a ghost in the corner of her eye. To have Draco, someone who was there when it happened, looking at the physical reminder of it?

"I never even - I mean, I never showed Ron," she whispered, holding his gaze like a deer in automobile headlights.

His brows pulled together in an expression of disarming hope. "I'm not him."

Hermione felt her words die on her tongue. He wasn't Ron. There was nothing wrong with Ron, but there was something right with Draco. Something that made her want to hold her arm out and let him see it.

To let him see the ghost, too.

Slowly, she held her arm out to him, placing the back of her wrist into his palm. His eyes lingered on her own and then he turned his attention to her forearm. She took a deep breath, watching the way his fingers lifted to touch her. Her hand twitched faintly as a Cruciatus tremor rippled through her muscles, noticeable and disheartening. She winced again.

His fingers traced the letters, moving up and down the lines, trailing around the curves. Goosebumps rose to life on the surface of her flesh. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

It appeared the sludge inside of her had made room for her stomach to flip.

"What did you think about?" he murmured.

"When?"

"In the well."

Hermione immediately tried to pull her hand back, but he clutched her wrist tight. His fingers continued their slow path back and forth along the scarring.

"It helps to talk about things," he said. "What did you think about in the well?"

She could feel her muscles trembling with her nerves. "Everything. Nothing. I thought of Harry and Ron and my parents. The stupid things I thought were so important. You." She flushed and lowered her gaze. "I thought of everything and nothing."

He dragged all five of the tips of his fingers down the length of the ridged, old wound. "Of me?"

She felt so calm. The way he was touching her. It was as soothing as it was overwhelming.

But she wanted to tell him. She wanted to do it now, before Pansy came back and shattered the crystalline sphere of calmness that they'd managed to build around them.

"I wished I would have just gone with you," she whispered. "I wished I would have just . . . Been a bit braver."

His lips curved up into a small smile and when he spoke, he looked down at her in a way that felt like he could see through the opaque towel. "You were very brave."

Another chill. Hermione let out a nervous laugh.

"It's a good thing you thought to look for me," she said, clearing her throat. "I hate to think . . . What - what would you have done if you hadn't found me?"

"Burned the woods down."

His fingers traced the letters again, his eyes piercing into her face. When she looked up at him, it felt like their lives were as knitted together now as the edges of her scarred skin.

Her heart skipped a beat.

_He'd do that . . . For me?_

"That's barmy," she said, breathing it out.

"Almost as barmy as me kissing you right now," he said, and he smirked.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he echoed. His eyebrows lifted and his lips remained parted.

And then, still holding her wrist, he placed his hand on the side of her neck. His forefingers curved along her skin as his thumb pressed against her jaw, right in front of her ear. Her heart began to pound faster.

Was this really - was he going to _kiss_ her? What if Pansy came back? What if - what if her towel came open? What if her breath smelled bad? She felt the panic spreading in her chest.

What if she was bad at it?

Draco tilted Hermione's head back and bent down, his upper back curving as if to cover her from rainfall. He was so much taller than her, especially with her sitting down. She found herself naturally arching her back, trying to sit up straighter and reach him. She felt her eyelids fluttering shut. Because this was instinct, and it was uncomplicated, and it was fine.

He'd saved her.

It was fine.

"If I have to talk to Neville Longbottom _one more time_ about flesh-eating trees . . ."

_Not fine, not fine, not fine!_

Pansy skidded to a halt in the room, a pile of clothes in her hands. Draco moved away from Hermione faster than a bolt of lightning, leaving her feeling quite foolish with her hands in the air.

She'd wanted to put her fingers through his hair.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Pansy said with a laugh. "You guys are _together_. You were just about to -"

Hermione couldn't take it. Pansy was the _last_ person that she wanted involved with her right after everything she'd been through. She knew Pansy was trying to be nice, but Hermione's anxiety was through the roof.

"Look," Hermione said, cutting her off. "I am grateful for the clothing, but we really don't have time for this. I need to go to McGonagall _now_. Before dinner is over. So thank you, but it's time for us to go."

Draco pushed his hands through his hair, looking from one girl to the other. Pansy appeared dumbstruck. Hermione knew she was being a little rude, but her body was on edge. Even seated, her leg hurt. Her hands kept trembling from the Cruciatus. She felt like she could still smell dirt.

Pansy let out a frustrated noise. She stomped forward and shoved the clothes at Draco's chest, who took them with a wide-eyed look. Then, she glared at Hermione.

"What is your _problem_ , Granger? I haven't bothered you in years, and all I've done tonight is try to help you. But you're acting like a complete _bitch_."

Hermione stared at her with wide eyes, still clutching the towel closed around her body.

"You do not know me. I don't know you." Pansy gestured between herself and Hermione, her blue eyes wide. "We're adults now, so what is it? Do you want an apology?" She pointed to Draco. "Did you make _him_ apologize? Or are you just spreading your legs because you're -"

"Pansy, you watch your fucking mouth," Draco said in a low voice, taking a step forward.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "It's not any of that, Pansy. Although, an apology wouldn't be out of the realm of necessity, after the way you treated me."

"All right, all right," Pansy said, pushing her fingers through her long hair and holding one hand up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, and I'm sorry for what I just said. It's not your fault that you _fell_ , or whatever." She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes. "But you _have_ been a bitch. If you wanted an apology, you could have just asked for one."

Hermione pursed her lips and gave her a deadpan look. Pansy scowled.

"Okay, fine. But I'm sorry anyway, yeah? There's no reason for us to act like we're in our nappies," Pansy said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was a bitch back then, and you're a bitch now. Let's just . . . Put it all behind us and -"

"Pansy," Draco said, his voice strained. "Six years does not equate to five-and-a-half months of Eighth Year."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised that he was defending that. He'd apologized when they began working in the library together, but she wasn't even sure she'd been seeking an apology. She definitely wasn't seeking one from Pansy. But it seemed important to him.

When had he changed so much?

Pansy gave him an exasperated look. She rolled her eyes for a third time. "Fine. _Fine_. But do you really want to stand here debating apologies, when she wants to go see McGonagall? She's starkers under that towel."

Draco jolted as though he were shocked by electricity. He passed Hermione the clothes and then he started toward the door. Pansy gave Hermione a strange smile and then followed after him.

Hermione turned where she sat to set the clothing down. She felt jittery from the incessant pounding of her heart. Dropping her head to her hands, she struggled to return to a steady breathing pattern.

Her anxiety had never gotten this bad before. It felt like she was in a constant state of panic, leading all the way back to lying in that well. When she closed her eyes, she felt like she could still see the small circle of stars above her. She felt like she'd never left.

 _I don't know how I'm going to manage this,_ Hermione thought. Her eyes stung. _How am I going to focus on classes when my leg hurts like this? When I can hardly walk? Sebastien can't get away with this. He just can't. I don't care if I have to go to trial over this; I'm pressing charges._

Pansy had brought her an extra school uniform of hers, complete with a set of Slytherin robes. Fantastic. Everything was already transfigured to be a size smaller to fit her and there were no undergarments. Thankfully, school skirts were knee-length. At least Pansy would be the only other person who knew.

Hermione dressed while using the side of the tub for support, trying her best to breathe through her leg pain. When she was done, her curls air-drying around her shoulders, she limped her way out of the bathroom. She didn't want to ask for help, but by the time she stepped out into the corridor, she was sweating again.

Pansy was gone, but Draco was there, leaning against the wall again.

"Draco," she said, her voice tremulous. "Can you . . . ?"

He came to her side, giving her that trademark grin, and then he assumed his earlier position. With his hand warm against her back and his other hand tightly gripping her own horizontally between them, they set off down the corridor.

Draco seemed distracted, but then again, Hermione felt the same way.

O

Dinner was almost over.

It wasn't completely over, but less than half of the tables were full. It was almost 8:00PM, and the only table that remained completely full was the professors' table. It was customary that they leave last, so it was to their expectations that they saw Headmistress McGonagall at the chair with the highest back. She was deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick, and she didn't notice Draco and Hermione making their steady way into the room.

Several students looked in their direction and sent them secondary glances. Their eyes seemed unable to settle in one area. Hermione knew she must look a sight. Practically glued to Draco Malfoy's side, wearing Slytherin robes, and limping?

It was laughable.

 _Merlin, I'm glad I told Harry and Ron we were friends, but I'm not sure they're going to see me wearing Slytherin robes to dinner as a forgivable thing,_ Hermione thought, casting her gaze about the room.

She couldn't even pinpoint who was looking at them.

 _Everyone_ was looking.

They had just made it past the inside of the doorway when Hermione's gaze fell upon the Ravenclaw table. Hermione froze, forcing Draco to have to stop, too.

Sebastien. He was still eating dinner. His friends were around him, beside him, and across from him. They were all laughing uproariously.

 _They must not know their mate's a murderer,_ Hermione thought, her heart beating faster.

She could still feel the cold of the night, seeping into her skin and freezing her in place. The dirt as it lay packed hard beneath her. The rot of things that lay dead and hidden in the dark. The branch stabbed through her thigh.

Hermione placed a hand to the base of her throat, bewildered. Why did it feel like she couldn't breathe? It was like her - like her chest was spasming, and her - her body was trembling and -

"Draco," she whimpered, holding his hand tighter. "I c-can't breathe. I can't breathe."

Draco whirled to face her, his face a mask of concern through the hair that fell forward into his eyes. He held onto her elbows.

"Huh? You can't breathe?"

Her eyes were desperate. Everyone was looking at them. She could feel the emptiness of the air behind her, like the opening of the well's hole. Everyone was looking at them. Sebastien was here. Sebastien was here. Everyone was -

She gasped. Then she gasped again. And again.

" _I can't breathe_!" she cried, clutching at her chest.

Draco gripped her tighter, trying to hold her gaze. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, Granger. Come on."

She was trying. She was trying but it wasn't working.

Sebastien was here.

And then Hannah was in front of them, having rushed over from the Hufflepuff table.

She didn't even look at Draco; she just cupped Hermione's cheeks. Holding Hermione's gaze, Hannah made exaggerated breathing motions with her shoulders. Hermione found herself looking back and forth between Hannah's eyes and Draco's. Both of them were lifting their shoulders and lowering them again.

"It's all right, Hermione," Hannah said to her. "Just breathe. Slowly."

Hermione felt like she was spinning out of control, hurtling through the air with a vice wrapped around her lungs. She could feel everyone's eyes the same way she felt the bugs crawling on her body in the well. It was horrible.

Horrible.

 _Breathe, breathe, breathe_.

The ropes around her lungs loosened, and her breathing began to calm.

"You can do this, Granger," she heard Draco murmuring above her. "Show them how resilient you are. For me?"

Hermione's face turned up sharply. He pulled his head back, their lips narrowly missing one another's. She flushed. She tried to focus.

For him. _For_ him. For _him_.

"Okay," she said, feeling dizzy.

Hannah gave him an unreadable look.

Draco stepped closer, sliding his arm around Hermione's waist. He ducked his head down so he could look her in the eyes as he steered Hermione towards the end of the nearest half-full table. The buzz of chatter had lowered to a murmur.

Hermione knew they were talking about her.

She hated this. She hated feeling so helpless. In one day, Sebastien had destroyed eighteen years of strength and walls and iron. In one day, Sebastien had made her need to rely on people to walk, to bathe, and to breathe. She had Cruciatus tremors. Her leg hurt. Everything hurt.

She just wanted to be Hermione Granger, heroine of the Battle of Hogwarts again.

"Did anyone see?" Hermione said, even though it was a stupid question.

"Actually . . . Well . . ." Hannah said, looking around. "I mean, they _saw_. But aside from those few people, no one else stood up."

"Good," Hermione said, heaving a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was for more people to come over and start asking questions. "I need to sit down. Draco, can you go get Headmistress McGonagall and bring her here? I don't think I can walk all the way down there right now. My leg . . ."

"Yeah, _Draco_ ," Hannah said, sitting down beside Hermione and putting her arm around her. "I'll wait here with her. She won't die without you."

Draco smirked and combed his hair back. "If anyone knows how hard she is to kill, it's me, Abbott. But thanks. I'll return in a moment."

As he turned to walk away, Hermione felt Hannah squeezing Hermione's shoulders.

"So . . . Either he tried to kill you," Hannah whispered, "or you guys are together now. I don't know which one is more terrifying."

"We're not together, and he didn't try to kill me," Hermione said, watching him go. "He just has a macabre sense of humor."

Draco was getting closer to where Sebastien sat. He was sitting on the bench with his back to the center aisle, and he hadn't turned to look in their direction.

Hermione sent Sebastien's back a dark look. She balled her fists in her lap and chanted in her mind to keep herself from spiraling again.

_For him. For him. For him._

_For him. For him. For -_

Draco slowed to a stop a yard or so past Sebastien's spot. It wasn't that far from where Hermione and Hannah were. Perhaps only ten or so meters.

_For him._

He took one more step, and hesitated.

Lowering his chin, he turned his head to glance back at Sebastien. There was something there in his eyes, like a thunderstorm brewing over the ocean. Grey and lit up.

 _For - no. He is not. He is_ not _going to do what I think he's going to do._

Hermione clenched her jaw. Draco would never. He was a Pureblood wizard. He was on parole. He'd changed. There was no way he _cared_ enough about her to risk his freedom. Draco would never -

"You know what?" Hermione heard him say. "Fuck this."

He pivoted on his foot and turned to face Sebastien. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, Draco took three storming steps and stopped right behind him. The Ravenclaws - and anyone else who was paying attention - looked on in surprise.

"What is he doing?" Hannah whispered.

"Oh, no," Hermione said.

 _No, no, no_.

Draco sunk his fingers into the depths of Sebastien's wavy hair, grabbing it and twisting. He slammed his head face-first onto his own plate, the food splattering up into the air as he did so. Sebastien made a strange noise, a mix between gargling and gasping.

The rest of the room seemed to exist in limbo, in a state of collected shock. Purebloods stared with their mouths open in disbelief; Muggle-borns and Half-bloods who had seen this type of violence before jostled each other and gasping.

Hermione's jaw hung open as horror rushed through her body like a tidal wave. Beside her, Hannah's repeated chants of, "What in Helga's _name_?!" were the soundtrack to what was clearly the end of everything sane that existed within Draco Malfoy's mind.

He'd lost it.

With his hand still pinning Sebastien to the table, Draco reached for the plate that belonged to the Ravenclaw sitting beside him.

"Hey!" the girl cried. "That's my supper!"

He grabbed the plate with both hands and smashed it against the back of Sebastien's head. The shards flew every which way, some to the table and some to the floor. Then, before Sebastien had even finished trying to sit up, Draco was dragging him by the hair. Out of the bench he was pulled, where Draco yanked him up. He bared his teeth down at him, his eyes flashing as dangerous as a forest fire.

"You like picking on small witches and throwing them down wells, then?!"

"I -"

And that was all the time Sebastien was given.

There was a collective gasp around the room as Draco threw Sebastien forward to the ground and followed him to his knees. He slammed his face into the stone again, and again, and again. So fast that it had happened five times before anyone realized what was going on.

Hermione heard the whispers of the students turning to loud yelling, and people were starting to break through their stupor and stand up.

" _You like - to crucio them - and throw them - down fucking - wells, yeah?!"_ he roared, one hand placed on the floor for support as he continued his assault.

Every time Sebastien's face flashed upward, Hermione could see it getting worse. The blood increased, spurting from a crushed nose. The flesh became mottled. Scrapes and splits opened in his skin. He lost his front teeth. One of his eyes rolled and swelled shut.

"I told you not to fucking _touch_ her!" Draco continued to snarl, so loud that it filled Hermione with pure terror. "I told you not to fucking _look_ at her, you piece - of - _shite_!"

All in less than three minutes.

The room finally erupted.

Hermione tossed aside her embarrassment as she pushed free of Hannah and rushed through the growing crowd to try and get to Draco. All she could think about was his parole. He was going to go to Azkaban if he violated it. She needed to get to him so she could stop him.

Because even as people rushed towards them, everyone clamoring and yelling suggestions, Draco was punching Sebastien. He'd rolled him onto his back and had his fingers clenched in his tie while he slammed his fist into Sebastien's mouth. He hit him hard enough to make his teeth cut his knuckles. He looked enraged.

It was terrifying.

Hermione half-limped, half-ran, and then she threw herself to the floor beside Draco. Students kept piling in around them. People were screaming. Sebastien was unconscious. At the same time, several professors appeared, including Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and chaos ensued. Hermione knew she was having another panic attack, but all she could focus on was the fact that no one knew what Sebastien had done, and that they were all going to think Draco had gone mental.

A couple of boys Draco's size - a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin, took Draco by the arms and dragged him back. He looked feral.

People were everywhere, but she didn't care. She didn't care. She couldn't breathe. McGonagall was hollering for someone to get Madam Pomfrey, kneeling beside Sebastien.

She didn't care.

Hermione grabbed the nearest person's arm and used them to drag herself up to her feet. She pitched forward, gripping the lapels of Draco's coat.

"Draco, look at me!" she screamed, sweat dripping down the sides of both of their faces. He looked at her, but his eyes seemed unfocused. His face was red and he was panting heavily, fighting against the hold of the wizards. "I don't want you to go! Do you understand me?! I don't want you to go back to Azkaban!"

His eyelids fluttered and there was silence between them amongst all of the chaos. They looked into each other's eyes and Hermione placed her hand against his cheek.

"Okay?" she said.

". . . Okay," he breathed, and then he stopped struggling.

" _Stupefy_!"

Professor Flitwick stood beside Hermione, his wand still aimed at Draco's now-unconscious form. Several people approached them. Hermione knew what was going to happen.

Draco had violated his parole multiple times.

Aurors would be called.

He was going to Azkaban.

Hermione felt herself getting dizzy, as though the oxygen in her body wasn't quite reaching her brain. She started to fall.

Hannah appeared at her side, wrapping her arms around her. She was saying something, but the sound was muffled. Her facial expression appeared confused.

Hermione looked up at her through bleary eyes. She had to do something. She couldn't just be helpless. She could let her panic and her trauma make her small.

"He pushed me," she said. It was like there was cotton in her ears.

Hannah's mouth moved. She looked even more puzzled. Hermione had to tell her. She had to tell someone before they - before she -

"He pushed me."

Her eyes promptly rolled up into her head.

* * *

**I had such a liberating, emotional past few days. So, like I said before, I am Black. I grew up in Medford, OR, and it was an absolute nightmare.**

**I finally, FINALLY faced all the trauma of the racism I have endured since the 90's and wrote down my experiences. I wrote them down and put them out there on my blog where I can read them again and again, until they're just words on a screen and not arrows through my heart.**

**They no longer have power over me.**

**They will no longer have power over me.**

**I say it again: they will no longer have power over me.**

**I am not your token. I am not anyone's Negro. I am me, I am Rae, I am Black, and I am proud and no one - NO ONE - will ever make me feel ashamed to be me ever again.**

**I am honored to be alive during the beginning of this civil rights movement and since I am disabled and unable to protest, I will do my activism online and be damn proud about it.**

**Black Lives Matter.**

**We fucking matter.**

**If you are a Black or POC author, please send me a PM on FF, a message on FB, or a message on Tumblr. I would really like to compile a list of as many Black and POC authors as possible. I plan to put this list up on my author profiles, my website, and my FB group, so we can get that excellence out there for everyone to see our gifts and read what we have to share. I just need your author name/penname and where your work can be found. Any fandom, original authors, anything. Poetry and prose and blogs. I don't care what it is that you write: it's going on the list.**

**Edit 2/25/2021: The list has been up on my website for months now, and it is still there! Just go to www . honeysweetwirting . com/blm**


	7. Chapter 7

**Small**

**Chapter Seven**

O

". . . wake her. Either of them. I do believe it's possible . . . Has come down with the chill . . ."

"I think . . . Mr. Malfoy has been . . . Minister Shacklebolt has said . . ."

Voices faded in and out, cutting into the darkness shrouding Hermione's mind. It was Headmistress McGonagall. And . . . It sounded like Professor Flitwick.

She stirred.

A tremor racked her body, a phantom of the Cruciatus. It roused her further.

Hermione was lying on her side in the bed. Her leg hurt terribly, like someone had been smashing a hammer against the scar for hours. Exhaustion weighed her bones, pulling them down into the bed as though the mattress were going to swallow her whole. She knew there was no magical equivalent for what had put her in the Infirmary.

Panic attack, plain and simple.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She saw the walls, the rows of beds beside her, and the lanterns. The bed next to hers had an occupant. An occupant with wavy brown hair and green eyes.

With a deep, unsettling lurch, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

He wasn't completely healed, but it looked as though Madam Pomfrey had worked on him with Healing charms. A _scourgify_ had been cast, but there was still some blood in the creases of his face. Beside his nostrils, in the crinkles of his eyes, and the corners of his mouth.

They stared at one another.

Neither of them moved.

Hermione wanted to start screaming. To cry. To jump out of the bed and go somewhere else, anywhere else. Anywhere that existed apart from the Infirmary because if Sebastien was here, then nothing was okay.

McGonagall's voice faded in again and this time, Hermione listened.

"Until they awaken and we can procure answers from either student, it's best we go deal with Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Filch is with him, but if he's violent for a reason we don't understand . . . Mr. Filch could be in danger also. The Aurors are on their way, but it only takes one moment . . ."

Hermione forced herself to wake fully. Holding Sebastien's gaze, she called for McGonagall.

There were a series of gasps, and then Hermione's view was obstructed by Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey. They bustled over, standing between the beds and gazing down at Hermione.

"My dear," McGonagall said, leaning down to place a gentle hand to Hermione's brow, "have you been feeling under the weather? You fainted in the Great Hall -"

"I don't have a chill," Hermione said, her voice strong and firm. "And Mr. Filch isn't in danger. Where is Draco?"

McGonagall looked taken aback. She retracted her hand and exchanged glances with Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey. Hermione struggled to sit up, gently waving off any helping hands.

"I need to speak with you, Headmistress McGonagall," Hermione said, breathless from the exertion. "Immediately, regarding a crime."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey has told us that you were in here earlier with Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick said. "We were concerned that -"

Hermione cut him off. There was no time. Draco could be going to Azkaban any second. She could feel Sebastien's eyes on her, but he wasn't moving. Whether he knew what she was about to do or not, didn't really matter. He'd made it clear that he didn't care if he got in trouble for hurting her or killing her.

He'd tried to make her feel small, but she wasn't going to let him.

She was going to fight.

"Sebastien Selwyn accosted me at the gates of Hogsmeade and _crucio_ ed me," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "He dragged me into the woods, and threw me into an old settlers' well. I was at the bottom of it overnight, in the cold, with only my magical core to keep me warm. He snapped my wand into pieces and left them at the edge of town. That's the only reason why Draco knew where to look for me. Draco was the one who pulled me out of that well and brought me to the Infirmary. Which is why he was here with me, Madam Pomfrey." She took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms to keep herself steady. "Draco attacked Sebastien because he was angry. You can't fault him for that. I almost died."

A shocked silence settled over the room, during which McGonagall, Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey all turned to look behind them at Sebastien.

He was looking at Hermione with the blankest, most emotionless expression she'd ever seen. There was nothing behind his eyes. They were as flat as though he were made of stone. Not even the Dark Lord had been that sociopathic.

A chill rippled through Hermione, sending a twinge through the muscle of her scarred thigh.

"And . . ." Flitwick's words faltered, like he was struggling to find a question to ask. He turned to look at Hermione again. "And how do you know that it wasn't Mr. Malfoy who -"

"I dueled Sebastien myself," Hermione said. "I lost."

This was difficult. It was difficult, especially knowing that Sebastien was right behind them and all she had to do was lean back a bit to be able to look him in the eyes. But she wasn't weak. She was strong. She was strong, and just because she wasn't big enough to fight him off that night, didn't mean she wasn't strong enough to advocate for herself, save Draco from Azkaban, and throw this arsehole in a cell.

"Hannah Abbott said that you told her he pushed you," Flitwick said, looking disturbed. "Did you mean Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Selwyn?"

"I meant Sebastien!" Hermione cried, feeling her panic levels spiking. "I know it's easy to blame Draco, but he is the only reason I am alive right now. I _swear_ it."

Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms over her chest, shooting McGonagall a pointed look. "It didn't _seem_ like he was the one who pushed her. He carried her all the way here on his back, Minerva."

McGonagall pursed her lips. In her eyes, Hermione could see that she was skeptical.

"Whywould Mr. Malfoy _attack_ -"

Hermione interrupted her, too. She'd interrupt them all over and over to keep Draco out of Azkaban.

"With all due respect, Headmistress, Draco is my friend. My dear friend. And I won't see him hauled off to Azkaban for protecting me."

Silence.

McGonagall sighed. "Very well. I will see if I can intercept the Aurors and question him further. As you well know, it's standard for them to check a parolee's wand. How did he get you out of the well?"

Hermione swallowed. The part she had feared.

"He used two charms to pull me up. Then, in the Infirmary, I used Legilimency with his wand. Will that show as me having been the one who performed the charm?"

McGonagall and Flitwick both looked at one another. Hermione felt herself getting nervous. What if they were just humoring her? What if they didn't believe her, or they thought she was under the influence of the Imperius curse?

"Any magic performed from the wand of a parolee is considered a violation, Miss Granger," Flitwick said. "There's no way to determine who performed the spell, if a spell is cast. I'm afraid . . . Mr. Malfoy may be in trouble either way."

Hermione lowered her gaze, swallowing against the ache in her throat. She'd known in her heart that something bad was going to come about because he'd used charms to get her out of the well. What else could they have done?

Let her die?

"All right, here is what we will do," McGonagall said. "Poppy, restrain Mr. Selwyn and keep an eye on him until the Aurors arrive. Filius and I will go and question Mr. Malfoy, if we can make it before the Aurors do."

Hermione felt unease twisting through her gut.

Would she have to be alone with Sebastien? What if they couldn't get to Draco in time?

Madam Pomfrey made as if to go over to Sebastien, but then stopped. She looked at Hermione. "Miss Granger, was your fainting spell preceded by anything? Any pain at all? Perhaps in your leg?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was a panic attack. I had already had one before the - the incident, and then I had another."

Madam Pomfrey pulled her wand out and walked closer. McGonagall and Flitwick turned to speak to Sebastien. Even though Hermione wanted to listen in closer, it was more important to ensure that there was nothing that could be used to wrongly accuse Draco.

If she had to fight Sebastien _and_ fight the Ministry, she would.

Madam Pomfrey performed a diagnostic spell, a series of hazy blue images appearing in the air in front of Hermione's face. Hermione had no idea what they meant, but Madam Pomfrey did, so she waited to hear what she had to say.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Madam Pomfrey said, "except for your blood pressure is a bit low. I would not be surprised if it dropped so low, that it caused you to faint. I think I'll prescribe something to help with . . ."

Hermione tuned her out, her cheeks heating steadily by the second.

_Dear, sweet Merlin._

She'd left her medication _and_ the clothes she'd been wearing in the well . . . In the Prefect's bathroom.

That meant that she was going to have to traipse _all the way_ back to get the potions and the clothing before she could go to her room. How was she going to do that without help? What if someone had tried to _pick them up_? Oh, Gods. She'd _urinated_ in them. Oh, Gods. Oh, Gods.

Her breathing grew shallow, just like it had in the Great Hall.

 _No, not again,_ Hermione though, frantic. _I cannot have another panic attack again. It's okay. It's okay. I just need to focus. No one will know they're my clothes, and no one is going to touch them with the way they smell. My potions, if they're not there, will just get turned back in to Madam Pomfrey. So, it's okay._

McGonagall's voice peeled apart her thoughts.

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Mr. Selwyn? Is any part of Miss Granger's accusations untrue?"

Hermione turned her head to look at him.

Sebastien's lips curved up into a deep, menacing smirk. He never took his eyes off of Hermione, who feared she might never again sleep without his emerald eyes haunting her.

"I would have done it sooner," he said, "if it weren't for the fact that I hadn't figured out what I wanted to do to her yet."

The silence reverberated with the chill of discomfort.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she gazed upon him. He was sick. He was beyond mental. There was nothing but emptiness inside of him. The fact that he'd only waited until December to first make his hatred known because he hadn't "figured out what he wanted to do to her" made her feel physically ill.

Death Eaters were terrifying. The Dark Lord was terrifying. Dark wizards were terrifying. They were all terrifying because that's what they _were_.

But Sebastien Selwyn was the first one that she felt truly scared _of_.

Without another second to spare, McGonagall cast a charm to chain him to one of the legs of the bed frame. It didn't seem to faze him.

He continued to smirk at Hermione.

"All right," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice shaking. "Miss Granger, who would you like for us to send for? You're going to require assistance for at _least_ the next few weeks before you'll be able to walk on your own, even with the limp."

Hermione racked her brain, but the only person she could think of was the last person she'd want help from. But unfortunately, she was the only person who would understand. She'd been there for her. She'd watched Hermione bathe the filth from her skin.

"Pansy Parkinson."

Eyebrows were raised, but other than that, no words were said. Hermione preferred it that way.

"Then, Miss Parkinson will be sent for. Filius?" McGonagall glanced at Flitwick, and then at Hermione over the top of her glasses while she spoke to him. "I'll wait here until you bring her back."

Hermione felt relief flooding her senses. She wasn't going to have to be alone with Sebastien. Good. She hoped it didn't affect Draco's situation, but the fear of being in the Infirmary nearly by herself with only Madam Pomfrey in the room was too much to handle.

Sebastien was as silent as death the entire time they were waiting for Pansy. Madam Pomfrey stood at his bedside, continuing her Healing charms. He watched Hermione, staring at her as though she were nothing more than an oceanside view, or a painting. He wore the same blank expression as when he threw her down the well.

McGonagall spoke to Hermione, but Hermione found that it was too hard to focus on what she was saying. The general gist of the Headmistress' statements were that Draco was in trouble, but with Hermione's new information, they might be able to convince the Aurors to let him off with a warning. She wouldn't be able to give her a definitive answer, but so long as Hermione resumed her school life as normally as she could, they'd all know soon enough.

Hermione just wasn't sure what her new "normal" was going to be. Panic attacks, a limp, and Cruciatus tremors? It sounded like she was going to have a very, very difficult remainder of her Eighth Year.

O

"You are bizarre," Pansy said later as they walked down the corridor. "But if Draco comes back and finds out I made you crawl around the castle? He'll put _me_ in the Infirmary."

Hermione shot her a look. "I doubt that he'd do that."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, because I didn't throw you down a _well_." She rolled her eyes.

"You're making me regret telling you," Hermione said with a sour expression.

"Oh, don't be dramatic. You survived. Be happy that you did. Things are going to be tough, but it's not like you haven't survived darkness before." Pansy sighed, earning herself a look from Hermione. "Let's hope McGonagall can keep Draco from being arrested. I know he has a temper, but we used to be best mates. I would know if he was going down the wrong path again."

"Used to be?"

Pansy's lips twitched. "We grew apart."

"How could two people on the same side grow apart?" Hermione asked. Her leg was grateful when they got onto a moving staircase. She leaned against the banister, giving Pansy a break from holding her arm.

"Granger, come on," Pansy said. "You can't honestly think it's that simple, can you? Just because our parents joined up with a maniacal freak of nature, doesn't mean we all truly wanted to. Sometimes, it's easier to follow your parents through the forest. It's _safer_ to follow them through it."

Hermione looked up at the taller witch, the paintings on the walls behind her seeming to blur as they floated up. "And how does that apply to you and Draco?"

"I walked down my own path," Pansy said, inspecting her black-polished fingernails. "Draco followed his parents down theirs. Everyone mistakes that for cowardice."

"If it's not cowardice, then what is it?" Hermione asked, not because she thought Draco was a coward, but because she wanted to know Pansy's perspective.

"It's love," Pansy said with a shrug. "If you hadn't noticed, his heart is large. He would do anything for the people he cares about - including attack someone else. Which, even though I wasn't there, I heard was an _attack,_ complete with the smashing of a head. So . . ." She pursed her lips and her gaze snapped from the stairs to Hermione's eyes. "He fancies you."

Hermione ignored her claim. "Why _weren't_ you there?"

"I told you I was tired of hearing Neville talk," Pansy said, smirking. "I didn't say I was tired of Neville."

It took a moment before it clicked. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head. As Pansy helped her off of the staircase and onto the landing, Hermione stared at her in shock.

"You . . . ? And _Neville_?"

"Seems like Gryffindor and Slytherin couples are all the rage this year."

Hermione scoffed. "I told you, Draco and I aren't together."

"Yet."

They walked in silence for a little while, Pansy assisting Hermione with an arm around her and a hand on her own. Hermione could feel that Pansy had questions, but Hermione had nothing to tell. She and Draco _weren't_ together. They were just friends, and even that was a more recent development. How could she tell Pansy that the fact that they were friends had come about due to multiple attempts to trick him into lifting her up?

Their friendship was a byproduct of uncharacteristic insanity.

The parcel and the clothing were still there, lying on the floor by the wall. No one had moved them, which Hermione was grateful for, but there was no guarantee that no one had touched them.

Mortifying.

She grimaced as she leaned forward with a hand on the wall to support herself. Picking up the parcel, she sighed.

"I guess you could burn them."

"Embarrassed?" Pansy said, arching one eyebrow as she aimed her wand at the pile of fabric.

"About my clothing covered in my excrement?" Hermione said with sarcasm apparent. " _No_. I can only hope no one knew they were mine."

"It was a cute dress . . . ?"

Hermione gave her an exasperated look. She limped over to sit on the edge of the tub. Pansy cast a containment charm and then _incendio_ , and the clothing burst into flame. They watched the clothing burn in silence.

If only it were that easy to burn the feeling of Sebastien's touch away.

"You know," Pansy said, holding the tip of her wand to her chin, closing one eye, and tilting her head to the side. "I could always _obliviate_ you. I don't know what exactly happened, or why, but it's easy to forget."

To forget.

To forget, the same way Hermione's parents had forgotten her.

"It _is_ easy to forget," Hermione said, her eyes glued to the fire. "But the last thing I deserve is to forget a single thing that happens to me as a result of the war. I need to -"

She looked down at her hands, at her body still clad in Pansy's clothing and robes, and realized with aching clarity that this was inevitable. Sebastien's hatred. It was a result of the war.

It was the fallout.

"You need to do what?" Pansy asked, placing one hand on her hip and relaxing it.

Hermione frowned. She watched the way her hands shook as another errant Cruciatus tremor ran through them. A mental image of herself dropping a quill, possibly spilling ink all over parchment, filled her with a deep sadness. The sadness of knowing what was coming, not being able to stop it, and accepting that it was going to happen.

"I need to feel this," she said, her voice soft. "I deserve to feel this, if only to become stronger for it."

"You Gryffindors are nutters!" Pansy let out an incredulous laugh. "You've been through a _trauma_ , Granger. You don't have to find strength in every horrible thing that happens to you. You fought in a war and you won. That's fan-bloody-tastic. But that doesn't mean there _needs_ to be repercussions. There's no _requirement_ for strength and flame-forging just because you survived."

Hermione looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

Pansy slid her wand up into her sleeve and then sighed. She pranced over to sit beside Hermione on the tub's edge. When she spoke, her crystal-blue eyes seemed to look directly into Hermione's heart in a way that she never expected from one Pansy Parkinson.

"If you want to scream, then scream. If you want to cry, then cry. If you want to let go and let a wizard fight your battles, then let him. You've been the strongest witch in the entire school since Year One. You can't just . . . Take a break for a little while?"

Hermione stared at her for a few moments.

Take a break from being strong. The sentence seemed so alien and so wrong, and yet . . . It seemed so enticing. It was so difficult building walls, maintaining them, and defending them _all of the time_.

"And I know you don't want to hear this," Pansy said slowly, "and I know that I don't know everything that happened to you out there . . . But don't you think that if being strong was the better way to be, then it would have protected you?"

Hermione was silent.

Because Pansy was right.

"Because strength and weakness means nothing around bad people, Granger. A lot of witches and wizards - good people - died during the war. How many of them do you think were strong? We don't know. Because it doesn't fucking matter."

"It doesn't," Hermione whispered.

"No," Pansy said, her expression fierce. "It doesn't. Who are you trying to prove yourself to? Seriously. _Who_ is asking you to be so strong all the time?"

"Myself," Hermione said, searching her eyes. "And . . . Everyone."

"There's your issue right there," Pansy said, raising her eyebrows. "You don't even know who you're trying to be strong for. But think about this." She waved her hand around and kept speaking.

"There is no one here, is there? There is _no one_ here. _No one_ is watching you, waiting for you to fuck up. _No one_ is asking you to be strong. You're putting that pressure on _yourself_. And if you're going to get through _this_ -" She gestured to Hermione's leg and shaking hands. "- then you've got to let it go."

Hermione's mind raced.

"You're not losing who you are," Pansy said, and then she shrugged. "You're just taking a break for a little while."

"Taking a break to do _what_?" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up. "To be weak? To be - to _fail_ and lose everything I've worked for?" She could feel herself about to blow. There were tears in her eyes. "I have never been anything but strong. I have never done anything other than try to make everyone see that I'm not small! That I'm just - just -"

"Just as big as them?"

"N-No, that's . . ."

Pansy lifted an eyebrow.

Hermione had spent years trying to build her walls up so high that no one could get into them. Higher and higher, until no one could step over them and get inside her heart to hurt her. Knowledge, schoolwork, books, and spells. Taking in as much information as possible so that whenever anyone asked her a question, she knew the answer. Because if she didn't know the answer, then that meant that no one would talk to her.

If no one was listening, then she was going to get louder until they did.

Once again, Pansy was right, and Hermione had no idea how someone who had been so unkind to her in the past could understand her so well.

Pansy grabbed her hand and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Granger, you're the smartest, strongest, most assertive person I know," she said. "And I think that I was envious of that. Don't make this sappy, but I've never been able to speak my mind the way you do. I was a bitch to you when we were younger _because_ I couldn't speak my mind. I didn't have the courage to. And then here you came, this little witch with this big hair, and you challenged Snape as though he were nothing. So no, you're _not_ small. But you need to take a _bloody_ break and let people take care of you for a while. Draco tore Sebastien's _soul_ out of his fucking _body_ , all right? Let that exist at the same time as your strength."

Hermione felt her cheeks heating and her heart beating faster.

"He did, didn't he?" she said. _And I don't feel the least bit bad about it._

Pansy's face split with a smile, and then they were both giggling. Hermione felt Pansy squeezing her hand.

"I still don't know what happened," Pansy said, "and I'm not gonna ask. But I have never seen Draco go that mental. And I know what's really bothering you."

"What? The fact that he did it?"

"No. The fact that you let him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I did not _let_ him. I was having a panic attack."

"Granger, there's no way you fought in the Battle of Hogwarts without having one or two of those," Pansy said, tossing her hair back. "I think we all felt the same way." She held up a finger as she stood up. "You let Draco do it, even if you want to tell yourself you didn't. If Sebastien threw you down a hole or whatever, you and I both know he deserved what Draco did."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She didn't want to admit to something like that. It felt . . . Dark. And wrong.

"I don't want Draco to go to Azkaban," Hermione said. "But you're also not realizing that I don't have a wand right now. Sebastien broke it in half."

"Yeah," Pansy said, nodding, " _and_ you also know that you could have taken anyone's wand in the Great Hall and used it to stop Draco, if you'd wanted to."

Hermione stared past her. "If I wanted to."

Pansy smirked. "You've got a little Slytherin in you, and that's _okay_. That's what I'm trying to tell you. There's nothing wrong with weakness. Draco was too weak to stop himself from destroying Sebastien's face, and you were too weak to stop Draco. Why does that have to be a bad thing?"

Right again.

Being strong and being weak . . . Being big and being small . . . Why did any of it have to be a bad thing? Why couldn't it just . . . Be?

"I'm surprised," Pansy said as she helped Hermione up.

"At who? Me?"

"No. Myself." Pansy laughed. "Not only do I still know everything there is to know about Draco, but I think we just became friends."

Hermione wasn't exactly opposed to that anymore.

Before they left, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the place where the clothes had been. At the ashes of her ordeal, which encompassed the last physical representation of what it felt like to see nothing but a circle of stars twenty feet above her broken body. The ashes were so sleight. So . . .

Small.

"Whoops," Pansy said, pulling out her wand. "Wouldn't want to leave those behind."

She vanished them, leaving Hermione with her limp, her anxiety, and her tremors.

O

When Hermione got back to Gryffindor, a Sixth Year girl in the common room helped her up to her dorm room.

The moment she got there, she limped over to her small desk and wrote a combined letter to Harry and Ron. She didn't know what was going to happen to Draco. She didn't know if Headmistress McGonagall was going to be able to stop the Aurors, but she figured if she could at least write to them about Sebastien, then it could help.

_Harry and Ron,_

_A wizard named Sebastien Selwyn attacked me. He_ crucio _ed me and_ _threw me down a well, where I almost froze to death. The Aurors will be arresting him. I am pressing charges._

_Draco Malfoy violated his parole to rescue me, and then he lost his temper. He attacked Sebastien, thus violating his parole further. He never would have done so if it weren't for Sebastien's attack. If Draco is brought into Azkaban, you must do whatever you can to convince Minister Shacklebolt to release him._

_If they bring him to trial, I will fight for him before I ever fight for myself before the Wizengamot. You know I will._

_Please, please do this for me._

_He's my friend._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

She hadn't responded to Ron's previous letter yet, and she wasn't going to. She knew that she shouldn't. Sometimes, silence was the best answer. If this got her a Howler, then so be it.

When the urgent letter was completed, she rolled it, sealed it, and went to her window. She opened it and called for an owl. A tawny brown one appeared after a few moments, landing on the sill.

"Take this straight to the Burrow," she said, where she knew Harry lived, too. "As fast as possible."

The owl hooted and was gone.

Hermione watched it go, hoping it would be enough of a fail-safe, and then went to undress and lie in bed. She looked at her boots, the only things she had left from being in the well. Carefully, she slid them underneath her bed.

One last reminder, so that she would never forget.

Being strong had always been woven so tightly into the fabric of her being that it was inseparable from her. Hermione couldn't remember a single time after coming to Hogwarts where she hadn't gone out of her way to appear stronger than she really was. Whether someone was poking fun at her or outright bullying her, Hermione always kept her desire to stay strong and be the bigger person at the forefront of her mind.

And it was exhausting.

Where was her strength when Sebastien snapped her wand and dragged her out into the woods? Where was it when she lay in the bottom of that well with a branch in her flesh? Where was it when the cold was sinking so deep inside of her that she could hardly breathe?

Perhaps if she hadn't been so focused on being "strong," then she would have been able to see months ago that Sebastien was dangerous.

It was time to let herself be weak. If she put too much focus on trying to be strong, then she would miss the signs of danger again. She could build her walls as strong, and as tough, and as thick as she wanted, but if she did it alone, someone was always going to be big enough to step over the top.

As memories of watching Draco slam Sebastien's head into the ground repeatedly flashed through her mind, she realized something.

The moment Draco attacked him was the first time in Hermione's entire life that she'd felt truly cared for.

Every time she'd been in a dangerous situation, she'd had to have her hand in the muck in some way. Even when Harry or Ron defended her, there was always debris leftover that Hermione had to sweep up. Professors to talk to, residual glares in the corridors, taking Harry and Ron to the Infirmary . . .

But Draco had left no stone unturned.

Draco had put himself at risk to exact vengeance - rightfully deserved vengeance - on Sebastien, _knowing_ that he could go to Azkaban. That wasn't exactly something she could see Harry or Ron doing. That didn't mean she thought Harry and Ron weren't good friends. It just meant that she fully and completely trusted in Draco's friendship.

He didn't belong in prison.

Hermione mulled over everything that had happened to her until she drifted off. She dreamed of emerald eyes, stone walls, and falling. The pain in her leg woke her after midnight, and she lay there until her tears lost the battle to her migraine.

She didn't know how she was going to make it through this alone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Small**

**Chapter Eight - Devil**

O

Two days.

Two days passed before Hermione began to feel the worry in a way that was palpable. She couldn't be certain, but the sudden increase in the amount of Cruciatus tremors she experienced had to be related. She supposed the condition could be related to a nervous tick; perhaps her brain preparing to be cursed again.

She counted them. The morning after Draco was taken away to Azkaban, they came once every thirty minutes. At breakfast, McGonagall had taken her aside and told her that while she had questioned Draco and believed him, the Aurors' wands were tied. Parole violation warranted an automatic arrest.

The tremors came once every twenty minutes after that.

The first thing Hermione did was write to Ollivander and tell him she'd lost her wand in an accident. He sent her a replacement before the end of the day. It was technically the same make and model, but it didn't quite have that "lived-in" feel to it. Still, Hermione knew she'd get used to it.

Hermione asked Hannah to walk her to and from classes, and she obliged. She was a Hufflepuff, so she was enthusiastic about helping and she even went so far as asking McGonagall for a special permission slip so that she could leave all of her classes early just to get to Hermione's on time. Hermione knew Hannah had Charms with Draco, so the moment Hannah got her arm around her, Hermione asked her whether he'd been in class or not.

The look in Hannah's eyes was enough to increase the tremors from every twenty to every fifteen minutes.

When she woke on the second day, Hermione was exhausted. The pains exacerbated the ache in her leg and made all of her other muscles hurt. Her hands were trembling every ten minutes and it took her a terribly long time to zip and button her skirt.

What if Draco never came back?

Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed and stared out the window at the grey morning sky. What _if_ he never came back? What if what Sebastien had done to her had gotten him thrown in Azkaban forever? What if it was her _fault?_ Hannah couldn't take her to classes for the rest of the _year_ -

 _When did I somehow come up with the idea that Draco was going to walk me to all of my classes?_ she thought, feeling embarrassed as she struggled into her school uniform. _What if the only reason why I want him to come back is to help me? How selfish . . . Some friend_ I _am . . ._

The tremors seemed to come nonstop for the rest of the day.

Harry had written back the following morning, and Ron had not signed the letter. It was answer enough as to where they stood. But at least she had Harry on her side. He'd said he would see what he could do, she just didn't know how long it would take to get some answers. She waited for a letter from him all day, especially at mealtimes.

The school was abuzz with rumors about what could possibly have happened. Sebastien's arrest was all over the newspapers. The child of a Death Eater getting into an altercation at school, and then subsequently getting arrested? That was exactly the type of news that the wizarding world loved to consume.

It had escaped no one that Draco was spending quite a bit of time with Hermione, that Sebastien was now in Azkaban awaiting a hearing, and that Hermione was temporarily disabled. Nobody had said anything to Hermione, and the only students who knew what Sebastien had done were Hannah and - after a discussion at the end of an HRC meeting - Pansy.

Something about the fact that Sebastien hadn't told a single soul what he'd done to Hermione before he was arrested unsettled her. He'd tossed her down a well to starve or freeze to death, and he hadn't felt even the slightest desire to tell anyone about it. Her death would have been a secret he kept close to his breast for the rest of his life, and her body would never have been found.

Hermione was glad Sebastienwas in Azkaban. That was exactly where he belonged.

"Do you want to see the paper?" Hannah asked at breakfast on the third day. She sat across from Hermione at the Gryffindor table today. There was a copy of the _Prophet_ in one hand and a cuppa in the other.

"Is his picture on the front?" Hermione replied before taking a bite of her oatmeal.

"Whose?" Hannah asked, her eyes glittering mischievously over the top of the paper. "Selwyn's or Malfoy's?"

Hermione gave her an exasperated look. "You know whose."

"Selwyn's is," Hannah said. "Malfoy's is not. And there's no information on him, either - Malfoy, I mean."

Hermione lowered her spoon and raised her eyebrows. "Do they have information -"

"Yes, a hearing date," Hannah said. "Not the official trial. I think they notify you by owl of that, anyway. Here, let me skim . . ." She murmured the words to the front page article under her breath. When she got to the information she wanted, her volume rose. " . . . Official date of Wizengamot hearing is scheduled for . . . March 13th! March 13th, and . . . No outside press or audience is permitted until the official trial begins. Okay, so you don't have to worry for a little while. That's good."

"Yeah," Hermione said. "That's a long time for him to be in Azkaban, awaiting trial."

"So?" Hannah gave her a strange look. "Let him rot, yeah?"

"That's not very Hufflepuff of you," Seamus said from her side, tearing himself away from conversation with his other friends to interact with the two of them.

"He threw Hermione down a _well_!" Hannah cried. "So yes, he can rot in there. Would it be more Hufflepuff of me to say I hope they at least give him a pillow?"

Hermione blanched.

Several spoons clattered to their plates. Silence fell over the sections of the table that had heard Hannah's words. Seamus' jaw hung open with food still inside his mouth. Everyone stared at Hermione.

"Thank you, Hannah," Hermione said, her cheeks burning. "Now _everyone_ is going to know by the end of the next _class period_."

She slammed her spoon into her bowl, nearly toppling it, and then struggled to her feet. Embarrassment flooded her body as she nearly fell over trying to get up. She glanced around, seeing more eyes than she could count following her movements.

 _Brave, strong Gryffindor,_ she thought as she limped down the walkway. She wouldn't let their stares get to her. There was nothing to be ashamed of. _Brave, strong Gryffindor._

She missed him.

There were a series of noises as Hannah scrambled to get to her feet and follow her. Because they both knew that Hermione couldn't walk for very long without the pain becoming too great. She needed Hannah.

Hermione just wished she didn't have such a big mouth.

O

"Do you want to check the lists?"

Hermione glanced up. Hannah looked down at her with a quizzical expression, waiting for her answer.

The lists. The lists that had been so important to her for so long. The lists that had defined her entire Eighth Year. They had made her feel as though the only things that mattered were her marks and accomplishments, and now they just meant . . .

Nothing.

Hannah and Hermione were on their way to the library after what Hermione felt was a long day. Her leg hurt, though that was becoming par for the course, and she was exhausted. If she was this tired after one day, then she wasn't going to have the energy to care about the lists.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I don't."

Hannah's eyebrows rose.

When they got to the library, Hermione felt like she hadn't been inside of it for months when in reality, it had only been two-and-a-half days. The lanterns were lit because they were charmed to burst to life on their own, but the room possessed the eerie sort of emptiness of a room that hadn't seen the sun in centuries. Which was bizarre, seeing as she and Draco hadn't really brought that much _life_ to it, per se.

It just felt strange without him.

"So, show me how this is supposed to go," Hannah said, pulling her wand out. "Are we fixing those shelves?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She used her own wand to conjure herself a wooden chair to sit upon and rest her leg. She took a couple of deep breaths through the pain. "Draco and I managed to get most of the books onto the shelves, and we fixed some of the broken stacks, but there's still those over there that need to be put to rights again."

As they began to work, waving their wands this way and that, Hannah turned to give Hermione a curious look.

"How come the library isn't done?"

Hermione looked at her from the chair. "What?"

"How come the library isn't done yet? I mean, with our wands, we could have the rest of this done in a week. This should have taken you _maybe_ a month or two at most. Why isn't it done yet?"

Hermione stared at her.

She could tell Hannah it was because she had not used her wand unless necessary because Draco wasn't allowed to use his wand. She could tell her that it was because she'd wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. She could tell her that she fancied him and had allowed that fancy to addle her brain and stretch three weeks' worth of work out into months.

"It's meticulous work," Hermione settled on instead.

"Meticulous work," Hannah said, and then she giggled. "Are you and Malfoy sleeping together, or something?"

Hermione nearly dropped her wand. "No! Hannah, _no_! We are not - we're not _anything_. We're not a ' _we_.'"

"Are you certain? Because if you _were_ together, I don't think anyone would be upset."

Hermione started to protest, and then frowned. "Honestly, Hannah. It's _Malfoy_. I think everyone would be upset."

Hannah sighed. "Look, Hermione. Everyone's just ready to move on, yeah? Everyone just wants to put the past behind us. I truly, truly think that it won't faze a single soul if you and Malfoy are together. Most of the school thinks you are, anyway."

Hermione's head snapped around to look at her. " _What?_ "

After setting some books on one of the shelves, Hannah lowered her wand. "You didn't know that? I mean, everyone knows the library shouldn't have taken you this long to finish. You also stopped working on all of the other tasks you signed up for. So . . . You're either infatuated with him and following him around like a lost puppy . . . Or, you're together. And everyone is talking about it."

"What is there . . . To talk about?" Hermione said, her teeth clenched. "It's neither."

"Hermione Granger spending time with Draco Malfoy?" Hannah scoffed. "There's a _lot_ to talk about."

Hermione wanted to cringe, but she forced herself not to. Instead, she went back to work on the books. Hannah sighed and resumed working, too. They went on in silence for a few moments, and then Hannah sighed.

"Because you know that everyone would be fine with it, don't you? You know that we would all be -"

" _Hannah_!" Hermione screeched, the pain in her thigh warring with her anxiety. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was a panic attack. "Thank you, but we are not -"

Hermione stopped mid sentence. Her wand fell to the stone floor with a soft clatter, the sound of wood against stone matching the thudding of her heart.

Past Hannah, in the doorway of the library entrance, stood Draco.

He wore the same clothes she'd seen him wearing the day he left: the double-breasted coat with the silver buttons, the black trousers, and the black boots. His hair was disheveled and pushed back and there was a dim light dancing in his eyes. Something that felt guarded, and like it would sting if she tried to get inside the gates.

"Speak of the Devil," Hannah said, giving Hermione a pointed look and a secretive smile.

"And He shall appear," said Draco. He kept his eyes trained upon Hermione as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His coat was open.

Something akin to a chill ran down the length of Hermione's spine. He stared with an intensity that showed that he wasn't exactly angry, but he was walking a path made of fire. In a way, he possessed the haunting beauty of Lucifer himself, with all of the flames but no feathers on his wings.

His gaze was so heavy.

"You're back," Hermione said, her voice cracking as she tried to keep eye contact. She clutched her wand in both hands.

"What did you expect, after contacting the Golden Boy?" Draco asked, his eyebrows lifting as his tongue curled around the words. He let out a laugh, but it was dark and mirthless. "Did you not think that he'd be able to get whatever he wanted from the Minister? With an Order of Merlin and all of our lives in his pockets, we all owe him a little something. Potter's price for Shacklebolt was my freedom."

Something didn't feel right about his words. The air around him seemed oppressive, like he'd brought rain clouds inside the library with him. Any second now, Hermione feared a bolt of lightning could shoot out of them and strike her down.

"Well," she said slowly, pushing a curl behind her ear, "I'm glad you're back."

Draco continued to stare at her. When he spoke, his tone was as cold as ice and almost accusatory in the way it assaulted her sensibilities.

"Yeah."

Hannah cleared her throat, drawing Hermione's attention. "Did - Did you just return, Malfoy? Are you sure you don't want to go to your dorm? I can finish helping with -"

"That won't be necessary," Draco said, and it was almost a dangerous hiss. "I'll finish up here."

Hermione blinked as though she'd been slapped.

Why did he sound so livid?

"Oh, okay," Hannah said. She pocketed her wand, hesitating. Her gaze fell upon Hermione. "Should I . . . ?"

"Yes, you can go," Hermione said, giving her a tentative smile.

Hannah gave them each a small wave and then made her way out of the room. She glanced back at Hermione one final time, to which Hermione gave her another encouraging smile. Then, she walked through the doorway.

Draco and Hermione were alone.

The awkwardness that had settled over them only served to make Hermione's palms sweat. She hadn't had a panic attack since the day he rescued her from the well, and she didn't want to have one now. She swallowed, hard, and tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, hands still in his pockets. The way he was looking at her, with so much intensity and accusation, showed her that he was not, in fact, fine. His gaze roved down the length of her body, still seated in the chair, and then back up. "You?"

"I'm okay," she said, feeling somewhat nervous. "Hannah's been helping me around the - the school . . ." She sighed and shook her head, grimacing. "You know, I could just - we could just ask her to come back. It's really not a -"

"I can help you get back to your room," he said, his voice cold. "After all, your experiment wouldn't be a success if you didn't get to research all of the results, now would it?"

Hermione felt his words lashing into her and she flinched. She didn't even know how to respond. What was he talking about? What did he mean?

What experiment?

When he strolled closer, pulling his wand out, she couldn't deny the feeling of alarm that swept through her body. She gripped her own wand tighter.

"Are you - what are -"

He cut her off, stepping past her and aiming at the books. "They revised the rules of my parole, provided I promise to assist you during your recovery. So unfortunately for you, Granger, whether I've changed or not, you're stuck with me."

Hermione sat there in silence for a second, breathing in the scent of his cologne as she processed his words.

Something didn't feel right. Something had changed. He'd only been gone for two days, and something was completely different. It wasn't like when they were younger, when he found amusement in bullying her. It wasn't like the beginning of this year, where he seemed stoic and like he was trying to look toward the future.

It was like they'd been friends for years, and she'd broken a promise.

Later, when they were finishing up, he spoke.

"This is probably going to be done in a couple weeks," he said. "All that's left is the tables, chairs, and Restricted Section."

"Yes," Hermione said, looking over the back of the chair at the aforementioned section. The energy between them was uncomfortable, but if there was one thing she could always do, it was focus on the task at hand. "I'm thinking that it would be best if we tried to make sure everything else was done in the rest of the Library before we work on that section. Especially because we don't know how -"

"I'll handle the rest of the library," he said, his voice as hard as a rock. "I think it's best if you take the time to rest in your room from now on. The more rest you have, the better your leg will heal."

Hermione felt something argumentative expanding in her chest as she turned in her seat to look at him. Did he think she was going to just . . . Do what he said?

"That's not what I want to do," she said with a frown. "I quit all of my other tasks for the HRC. I don't want to quit this one, too."

Draco waved his wand in a manner that was agitated and Hermione watched in awe as the rest of the books on the floor in their vicinity rose into the air and flew onto the shelves with a series of loud fluttering noises. When he faced her, his expression was so cold that it sent a chill down her spine.

He looked like he hated her.

"I don't want you to help me with this, and I don't need you to, Granger." His eyes seemed to almost glow silver in the semi-darkness of the section they were in. "I'm going to help you get to and from your classes and mealtimes because I have to if I want to be able to use my -"

Hermione drew her shoulders back and cut him off. He was being unnecessarily rude, and she had no idea why. She hadn't done anything wrong.

"I think that's something that should be left up to me, don't you?" she snapped. "I highly doubt the Aurors just _agreed_ to assign you to me without owling me first, or asking McGonagall to speak to me. Patients don't just get _given_ Healers without first going to St. Mungo's, Draco."

"It's Malfoy."

She flinched.

She didn't know what happened, but somewhere along the path, from the moment they decided to be friends, to the day he was arrested, to now, something had completely reversed all of the progress they'd made.

Not that she was expecting any progress. She hadn't even sought his friendship. She didn't know what she'd been looking for him to give her. Whatever it was, it was too late.

He'd taken it back.

Hermione didn't like the way this felt. It felt nauseating. Unsettling in the way it twisted like snakes of confusion and hurt in the pit of her stomach. Her heart felt like it was pounding too fast for her to learn how to adjust her breath, like he had his hands wrapped around the organ and was squeezing every last drop of blood out of it.

"Let's get you back to your room," he said, and it was like the first day in the Library all over again. "We're done here."

 _Done_.

And when he walked her back to her room by merely offering her his elbow to grasp like they were walking onto a dance floor, there was a cold air between them that reminded her of the day he told her he wasn't a block of ice. It was colder than the air the night she'd spent in the well.

Sneaking a glance up at him as she limped beside him down the corridor, the awkwardness settling around them heavier and heavier, she could feel it.

He'd frozen again.

_Why?_


	9. Chapter 9

**Small**

**Chapter Nine - Tall**

O

**March 1999**

Draco hated her now.

Hermione was sure of it. She didn't know what happened, or why, but she knew he hated her. It was like having a best friend in primary school who woke up one day and decided not to be her friend anymore. She was a logical witch, so she knew the feelings of loss and pain she felt were only temporary and based upon shock.

It was clear that he didn't like her in the rigid lines of his body and the hard set of his jaw whenever he saw her. He couldn't seem to look her in the eyes for longer than a few moments, and his tone was nearly always flat. Empty. Emotionless. They never spoke, unless it was Hermione trying to make small talk, and his icy responses hurt worse than his silence.

She knew something must have happened to him at or after Azkaban, but when he was this frigid, how was she supposed to ask him?

What right did she have to ask, when she was the reason he'd been arrested?

Draco had stayed true to his word. Hermione did not finish the library with him. The remainder of February and first week of March was spent with him working on finishing it on his own while Hermione stayed in her room and studied for her N.E.W.T.s. He worked on it every day, surprising everyone on the HRC, but he never again attended a committee meeting.

It soon became clear that Hermione was not going to be able to head the committee anymore, nor was she going to be able to help with the rest of the tasks. Her leg pain had remained the same. It had gotten no worse and no better, and after hours of walking from class-to-class each day, Hermione found herself just wanting to sit or lay down at any chance she got.

As much as it killed her, Madam Pomfrey said during a follow-up visit that it would be very detrimental to her leg's health if she didn't get the right balance of exercise and rest. Too much rest, and her wounded muscle would be weak. Too little, and the pain could linger for the rest of her life like a ghost. The potions helped a bit, but the key to recovery was in the balance.

It was decided by Madam Pomfrey that Hermione would create a balanced schedule of walking to breakfast and to Charms, and then she'd rest during her second period. She'd take lunch in her room so she could have a good two-and-a-half hour block of remaining seated. Then, she could go to Advanced Potions and History of Magic, and she could take dinner in her room again.

But she was Hermione Granger, and spending so much time in her room when she could be doing something to help the school was not something she wanted to do. The exertion of working on the restoration tasks would be too much for her, however there were Prefect duties that she could do.

So Hermione switched with a Seventh Year Gryffindor Prefect, and now it was Hermione's job to do rounds at night. It was the perfect way to get some extended exercise and help the school.

The only issue?

Draco didn't seem as amenable to the idea as McGonagall.

Hermione knew it was because he didn't want to be alone with her for so long, and while Hermione still hadn't the slightest clue what she'd done wrong, she knew his parole was tied to her decision. If Hermione decided she wanted Hannah or someone else to be her walking partner, then he was going to lose his wand again.

It had been three days since McGonagall and Hermione had made this decision.

The first day was so deathly silent that Hermione almost felt like breathing was too jarring of a sound. Hermione spent the duration lost in her thoughts, her fingers curved around his elbow as though she were afraid to touch him.

The second day, they exchanged words with one another and finished the rounds with sour expressions on their faces. Hermione gave a Second Year detention and Draco didn't agree because it was only five minutes after curfew.

They argued about it, but in the end, Hermione got so frustrated that she threatened to go to McGonagall and request someone else. The flames of anger in his eyes had cooled so quickly to ice that Hermione had limped backward to move away from him.

The Second Year student had left the moment Draco ripped the parchment that had Hermione's detention summons on it, all while glaring down into her eyes. He didn't say a word.

He didn't need to.

The third night, Hermione took her dinner in her room and then made her way down the stairs. She leaned heavily against the banister as she went, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth to manage it. Her leg wasn't so much weak anymore as it was in constant pain, but she tried not to focus on it. Breathing exercises helped.

Tonight, however, was the night she was going to confront Draco. She was a Gryffindor. She was not the type of witch to let these things go on and on, especially with graduation coming up. Yes, she'd fancied him. Yes, it may have just been a silly girl crush. But he'd still been her friend. He'd still saved her.

There were always going to be things to work out between them, but this was the most important one.

When she stepped out of the portrait and into the drafty corridor, Draco was not there.

It was Pansy.

"Pansy!" Hermione said with a bright smile. She glanced around. "Where is -"

"He sent me tonight," she said, tossing her head to move her hair back over her shoulder. She smirked. "I can tell things aren't exactly _peachy-keen_ with the two of you anymore. Did something go wrong?"

Hermione sighed, leaning down slightly to massage the aching scar in her thigh. "I don't know. I cannot stress enough that we were just friends, but he just seems to hate me now."

"What did you do?" Pansy put her hands on her hips. It was a Thursday, and she wore her typical uniform. The waistband of the skirt was rolled to shorten the pleated skirt, her button-up was worn tucked in, and she had her robes open over the entire coordinate.

"I have no idea," Hermione said with a shrug. "He won't speak to me, unless it's to argue, apparently."

"He does like a good row," Pansy said. She came to Hermione's side to put her arm around her waist and hold Hermione's left arm with her hand, and then they set off on rounds.

"Did he say anything when he asked you to step in for him tonight?" Hermione asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"No," Pansy said. "Just that he had studying to do, and he needed me to take over. He did say that you were trigger-happy with the detention slips, though."

Hermione pulled a sour face. "It was after curfew."

"He said you'd say that. He also said it was only five minutes and - Hermione," Pansy said, "I may be your friend now, but I'm going to be honest with you . . . You need to loosen up."

"Loosen up?" Hermione almost stopped walking. Her voice echoed around the large, empty corridor. " _Loosen up_?"

Pansy grinned, and it seemed almost fierce. "I said what I said."

"Oh, and I suppose you don't take it back, either!" Hermione elbowed her, and then they set off again. "I do not need to do anything. It was five minutes after curfew, the student was a Second Year, and I was just doing my job."

"Your 'job,'" Pansy said, and Hermione could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "You took over Prefect duties for a Seventh Year. It's not an occupation. And didn't we have a chat about this? You _do_ need to loosen up. There's nothing wrong with letting go a little bit. You used to be a Second Year; you know how ghastly the curfew is. Don't worry so much about the rules on rounds."

"And focus on the fact that all that Draco gives me is silence?" Hermione blurted out. Her cheeks flared with heat and she kept her gaze on the air ahead of her, even as she felt Pansy looking at her. "He can barely . . . _Look_ at me. And I still don't know what I did."

"I suppose I should thank you," Pansy said, ignoring Hermione's words. "Until recently, Draco barely spoke to me. Now, it's like we're the best of friends again. He's never been a solitary wizard."

Flashes of memories from the years before the war reached Hermione. Draco, leading a gaggle of Slytherins. Draco, telling jokes and stories to a crowd of students who laughed. Draco, with Slytherin girls hanging off of his arm.

Draco, hexing her teeth larger.

She pursed her lips. Pansy was right. Hermione supposed that Draco's self-imposed loneliness should have been all it took to show her that he'd been different this year. However, she hadn't exactly begun her Eighth Year with Draco Malfoy's redemption in mind. She hadn't expected to become his friend.

She hadn't expected to be so attracted to someone based on her height, either, but she was starting to believe it had a lot more to do with how she felt about herself inside than it did with his height. If the only time she felt like she didn't have to expand to fit every space was when she was around _him_ specifically, then that told her she had some demons to exorcise.

"I do recall," Hermione said. "My teeth were grateful for it this year."

Pansy gasped, drawing Hermione's gaze. "I _remember_ that! Sweet Circe, that was . . . A day. It was quite the year, actually."

More flashes of memories.

Draco warning her, Harry, and Ron about the Death Eaters in his own twisted way.

She froze. When had she begun thinking _that_? It wasn't possible. It was less than impossible. He'd _hated_ her. He never would have - have _warned_ her against Death Eaters coming. Merlin's sake, she'd _punched_ him at the end of their Third Year.

"All right?" Pansy's words broke into her consternation. "Your breathing is strange . . ."

Hermione forced the panic down low in her chest. "I'm f-fine. Why was it quite the year?"

"Not for me, but for him," Pansy said, her hands warm against Hermione's body as they walked and limped their way along. "His father was a complete nightmare. His mother was aloof. I mean, it was all I could do to get him to write me back during Winter Hols. And now, since you might as well know, Peter Pettigrew was taking up residence at the Malfoy Manor."

Hermione's head snapped to look up at Pansy. She stopped dead in her tracks. "What?"

"Pettigrew left at the beginning of Fourth Year," Pansy said, searching down into Hermione's eyes. "But during the Summer, he was at the Manor for two months. I'm not sure what exactly happened. I got two letters from him all holiday, and the second one was only three sentences long."

"Is he the type to -"

"Send long letters, yeah," Pansy said. "They're usually two pieces of parchment, sometimes more. Er, they _were_. Before that Summer."

"So what happened to him?"

Pansy shrugged. "No one knows. We just know he changed after that. It took a couple of years, but then, you saw him Sixth Year. He was a shell."

Hermione frowned. She hadn't been his friend back then and she hadn't known him well enough to be able to agree on whether or not he was a shell. She _did_ know that his change in temperament had been noticeable, especially for Harry.

Harry had made it his mission to figure out what Draco was up to for the duration of that year. It culminated in the duel in the loo that caused Hermione to look at Harry differently for a while. She hadn't realized that he held that sort of darkness within him - the darkness that it took to cast _sectumsempra_.

"What else do you remember from that Summer?" Hermione asked.

Pansy pushed her fingers through her hair, shrugging. "Not much. All his letter alluded to was that Lucius was sending missives, seeking out whoever remained loyal to the Dark Lord. That, and he was tired. That's all it said, though."

Hermione looked down in thought. So, Lucius had clearly been involved in Death Eater activities back in the Summer of Third Year. She wasn't surprised at that, per se. She was surprised that he hadn't said anything about it at his trial. He was in Azkaban for the rest of his life anyway, so why not just . . . Tell the truth?

Unless he was protecting his son.

Hermione felt her stomach twist with discomfort.

What could he be protecting him _from_?

"Let's keep going," Pansy said, "and let's not talk about the past. I think he's been through a lot, but it's all behind him now."

"Yeah," Hermione said softly.

They resumed their rounds, meandering through the castle while chatting about other things. Pansy and Hermione were an odd pair, that was certain, but they were both experts at conversation. Hermione could babble about anything, and Pansy would find things to respond with. The same worked in reverse. Hermione found that it was an easy friendship, one that she never would have expected to find.

"I'm going to help you, I think," Pansy said when they were rounding a corner on the Third floor.

Their footsteps were quiet against the stone, the sheer size of the corridor seeming to swallow up the sounds they made. There was a bit of pain in Hermione's leg, but it was no more than she'd grown accustomed to. She breathed through it, not wanting to stop spending time with Pansy until it became unbearable.

"Help me with what?" Hermione said.

"With getting him back." Pansy kept her arm around Hermione's waist.

"Getting him - I told you we weren't together," Hermione said.

Pansy patted her arm. "I'm not blind, deaf, or unable to conceptualize information, Hermione. You fancy him, that much is _wildly_ apparent." She lifted her eyebrows high. "Wildly."

Hermione spluttered for a moment, and then Pansy spoke into her speechlessness.

"I can't say how he feels for you, but I can tell you what he likes. I _know_ what he likes."

A tinge of jealousy burst in Hermione's chest and she narrowed her eyes up at her new friend. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy," Pansy said. "You told me it wasn't cute three weeks ago, so why would it be cute now?"

Hermione pressed her lips together in exasperation.

"Just look at this time as a . . . Refractory period," Pansy said.

Hermione gave her a horrified look. "A _refractory . . ._? Pansy, do you know what that _is_?!"

"Do I know the sky is blue, and that Professor Sprout is shagging Professor Slughorn?" Pansy shot back. "Of course I know what it is! I'm a slag!"

"Pansy! Don't say that about yourself!"

Hermione and Pansy were both giggling. Stumbling into one another from the force of their amusement. The entire thing was so absurd that Hermione couldn't _help_ but laugh. Professor Sprout and Slughorn together was one of those rumors that spread about the school in the first month of the year, and then quickly became buried because it was so weird to talk about.

"I'm serious," Pansy said when they had settled. "I want to help you. I really do know what he likes."

Hermione sighed. She had reservations, but there was something hidden beneath her initial reaction. It twisted and curled low in her gut, urging her toward inquisitiveness.

"I will _humor_ you," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"All right," Pansy said, "then humor me to the fullest. First of all, what was the nature of your relationship?"

Hermione bit her tongue, resisting the urge to claim that there was no relationship. She sighed. They walked a few more steps before she finally spoke.

"We weren't friends," Hermione admitted. "Not really. Maybe we were, but . . . I definitely fancied him as more than a friend. He seemed to care about me." Her voice faltered and she blushed. "He saved me from the well and when he did, he held me."

"Hmm," Pansy said. "Well, he was definitely interested in you. There was no doubt about it. I mean, he nearly killed Selwyn."

"He did do that."

"Yes, he did." Pansy nodded in a grave manner. "Did you guys kiss? Fuck? Anything?"

Hermione gulped. "No. But he . . . Lifted me up a few times."

Pansy gave her a strange look. "Lifted you . . . What?"

Hermione grimaced. Now that she was saying it aloud, it sounded . . . Well, it sounded mental. That she was hanging onto the fact that he'd lifted her up.

"I don't know how to - to explain it."

"Did you _like_ it when he lifted you up, for whatever reason that he did?"

". . . Yes," Hermione said.

"Why?" Pansy lifted her hand from Hermione's arm and waved her hand for Hermione to continue. When Hermione stayed silent, Pansy said, "Today, please."

Hermione scowled. "Because he's taller than me, all right? It's the - the difference in our heights. I fancy it. Him. And it." She sighed, her head dropping back. "I like the way he makes me feel small. I don't know why it's only him, since there's lots of people who are taller than me, but it just is. I don't have to be _more_ when I'm around him."

"Because he doesn't like that stuff," Pansy said. "He never really has. He was always the leader, because _he_ was the boastful one. I guess now that I think of it, he was a bit of a narcissist . . ."

"He doesn't _seem_ narcissistic."

"He's not that way anymore, from what I can tell. But he used to be. It wasn't really him, though. It was . . ." Pansy frowned. "He wore it like a cloak. To hide what he was really feeling. I think it was easier for him to pretend that he was full of himself, to hide the fact that he wasn't."

They were quiet for a while.

Hermione bit her lower lip. Were the differences in Draco this year really that simple? Had he simply shed his false persona and become the real version of himself? Had he been hiding who he truly was for so long that there was nothing left? If that were the case, then he was so . . .

Sad.

"So, you have a kink," Pansy said. "It's not an issue. Not an issue at all. At least it's a kink that he can fulfill by simply existing. Those are the best kind, because they don't take any extra work on either person's part."

Hermione started to protest again, but Pansy squeezed her forearm.

"You said you'd humor me."

Hermione grumbled to herself. "Yeah. All right. But does it have to be called . . . That?"

"What?" Pansy said, spluttering with laughter. "A kink? Are you a virgin, or something?"

"No!" Hermione cried, her voice rising sharply in the hall. "No, just . . . That sounds so - so _crude_."

"Fucking _is_ crude," Pansy said. "If you want to fuck Draco Malfoy, you're gonna have to get used to crude words. He's a talker."

Hermione felt her stomach twisting again. The blood drained from her face. "A . . . Talker?"

Pansy sighed heavily. "Okay, so you're the simple kind of witch. That's okay. We can work with that. Let's find somewhere to sit."

Hermione glanced around, knowing that it was well past the time they should be finished with rounds. But her leg hurt and they were still on the Third Floor. She could certainly use the reprieve.

There was a small side corridor a ways ahead of them, so they walked into it. Pansy transfigured a pin on her robes into a couch to sit upon. Hermione cast some wards just in case Filch felt like wandering by. Then, they sat down and resumed their discussion.

"All right," Pansy said, curling her legs underneath her on the cushion, "I know this is _hypothetical_ , but let's say you do want Draco. You should know what he's like, what he likes, and his track record. I mean, wanting someone doesn't mean you have to _marry_ him. You can just . . . Sleep with him. Just sleep with him and get it out of your system."

Hermione massaged her aching thigh. "This is bizarre."

"What is?"

"Talking to you about this. About _this_. Talking to you about it. The fact that it's _you_ , and that you've slept with him before. You're his ex-witch, and just . . . It's weird, okay?"

"Who better to glean information from, Hermione? Besides -" Pansy leaned back with her arm on the top of the couch and her chin propped in her hand. "- I can see what's really going on here."

"What?" Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "What can you see?"

"It's more than a kink. It's a fetish. He used to be cruel to you, and everyone else is nice to you. The fact that he's taller than you and attacked someone else who hurt you, as though _he's_ the only one who's allowed to give you grief?" Pansy rolled her eyes. "I mean, come on."

A memory poked its way forward. " _You're as good as mine, Granger."_

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, honestly, Pansy," Hermione said, still rubbing and kneading the sore muscle of her thigh. "That's not what it is."

"So, you're telling me there's not a sense of intrigue there? You haven't stopped to really think about this? Draco Malfoy, the boy who hexed your teeth and called you names. The boy who joined up with the Death Eaters and did dark, _dangerous_ things . . . _And_ he's taller than you? That doesn't turn you on?"

Hermione stared at her for a long time. She felt her stomach and heart clenching. It was so morbid. So, so morbid.

But now she was worried.

What if Pansy was right? What if it _was_ more than his height and changed personality that she'd been interested in?

"Come on," Pansy drawled, lowering her voice. "You can't tell me you don't want to know what it would be like to have a _Death Eater_ interested in you and _only you_? That doesn't sound delightful to you?"

"No," Hermione said, her voice shaking.

Pansy smirked. "Close your eyes."

Hermione gave her a look, but Pansy waved a dismissive hand.

"Come," she said. "Close your eyes. I'm going to paint a picture for you."

With a heavy breath, Hermione did so. She closed her eyes against the dim lighting of the lantern-lit corridor, plunging her own sensibilities into darkness. She took several frustrated breaths.

"Okay, they're closed."

"Good," Pansy said. "Keep them closed, and imagine you're in the library."

Hermione did.

Pansy continued, her voice still throaty and low. "It's a Saturday. It's been raining _all_ week, and you and Draco are just trying to finish up the restoration. You're almost done, and the last of the books go on the top shelf. But - _oh_! You left your wand in your dorm."

Hermione blushed. She'd done _that_ before.

She kept her mouth shut.

"You've left your wand in your dorm, so how are you going to get the books up there?" Pansy gasped. "So, you ask Draco to help you."

Hermione could see all of this quite vividly in her mind. Her curls felt heavy on the back of her neck, suffocating in their warmth even though the castle was drafty at night in March.

"He comes over and stands _really_ close to you. So close that you can smell his - does he wear cologne?"

"Yes," Hermione said automatically.

". . . Rhetorical question," Pansy said, sounding amused. "But all right. You can smell his cologne and he's standing right behind you. He puts the books on the shelves and then he turns to ask you if there's anything else you need."

It sounded like her voice was getting closer, but Hermione was so lost in the imaginary scenario that she didn't open her eyes.

"He says, ' _What do you need me to do for you?'_ in that - that Draco voice thing he does when he's horny -"

" _Pansy_!" Hermione laughed, eyes still closed. She was ruining it.

Pansy giggled. "Sorry! All right. He says it to you in a _sexy_ voice. He says it again, standing over you because he's _tall_ and does that thing that _tall_ people do. You know . . . They stretch up, or whatever. He -"

"This isn't very _sexy_."

"Shut up, you - you Hippogriff!" Pansy said, giggling so hard that she sounded out of breath. "I'm trying to help you envision this!"

"Okay!" Hermione said, eyes remaining firmly shut. "Okay, keep going."

"Anyway, skip forward and -" Pansy raised her voice a tad, and it was right beside Hermione's ear. "He's pinned you to the bookshelf! He's so much bigger than you that you can't go anywhere. You can't go to the side, either. And he's looking down at you with those _silver_ eyes. Oh, you know he's got perfect teeth, so he's giving you a grin that's _Slytherin-wicked,_ and then -"

Hermione felt sweat prickling underneath her arms and along the length of her back. Pansy's hand was on her shoulder. The things she was saying were absolutely ridiculous, but the image they were painting was effective. Hermione wasn't sure what to do or how to react, but she did know that it was easy for her to imagine that Pansy's hand was Draco's.

Her thighs began to quiver.

"- he kisses you on your neck. And Draco - you should know that Draco _loves_ kissing a witch's neck, _especially_ if it's sensitive." Pansy moved Hermione's curls back on one side. Her breath ghosted along the flesh of the side of her throat. "He'll kiss you there for fifteen minutes straight, until you can't take it anymore. He likes doing that, too. Driving you crazy with need. _Trust_ me, if he can make you beg, he will."

Hermione swallowed, but didn't say anything or open her eyes.

Pansy suddenly moved her hand to Hermione's throat and wrapped her slender fingers around it. They tickled. A shiver ran the length of her spine.

Hermione imagined that it was Draco, just like she'd imagined Draco when she was sleeping with Ron on Christmas Eve. She clenched her teeth against the sound she wanted to make.

"This isn't Draco who's choking you," Pansy said, even though she wasn't squeezing that hard. "This is Malfoy. The Malfoy you remember from the war. The Malfoy who wears the cloak and mask. The terrifying, imposing Death Eater who _slammed_ someone's head into the ground because he tried to touch you. You, who _belongs_ to him. _And . . ._ He's tall."

Hermione felt every nerve in her body singing with the thought of it. Pansy was right. Of course she was right.

Pansy's hand slipped between Hermione's trembling thighs and froze millimeters away from her knickers. Hermione's first instinct was to go rigid, but when she imagined that it was Draco doing it, all of the tension relaxed from her body.

Pansy went on, her voice right beside Hermione's ear again. "And then he touches you, right here, until you come."

The thought of Draco Malfoy the Death Eater squeezing her neck and pinning her in place while she squirmed and begged for release that Ron had never and _would never_ be able to give her swelled within her body. The pleasure of it gathered in her lower body like an electrical storm and shot up to her mouth. It expelled itself from her body in the form of a quiet moan.

Pansy removed her hands from Hermione and sat back. After a moment, Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and blood slowly warmed the apples of her cheeks.

"You want him," Pansy said, grinning wickedly. "You _so_ want him."

There was no point in denying it any longer.

"Okay, fine," Hermione said. "I want him."

Pansy held her arms wide. " _Now_ I can help you."

Hermione ran her fingers through her curls, flustered as the arousal in her body pounded a pulse in her core. She did want Draco. Badly. And it was clear to her that she'd wanted him since they helped clean up the Room of Requirement together.

"First of all, he likes to be in _complete_ control," Pansy said, her eyes glittering with excitement in the lantern light. She counted things off on her fingers. "Second, he _is_ a talker, but really he just likes to see your reaction to the things he says. You don't have to say anything to him, but he does like when you respond. Third, Draco is a bit of an exhibitionist. He doesn't care why or where; he just cares about when. I think the most public place we ever slept together was . . ." She looked up. "The hallway outside of his bedroom at the Manor during his mother's Easter gala in Sixth Year."

Hermione pulled a face. "I would _never_ -"

"We were going through it, all right?" Pansy snapped. "I mean, it was Spring, and you know what the Dark Lord tasked him to do. I would have given him anything he wanted."

Hermione felt the jealousy flaring up again. "Did you love him?"

"Don't be silly," Pansy said, smiling. "I'll always love him. We were together during the most important years of my life. But . . . I love Neville now."

Hermione smiled, too. "You love Neville?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Their eyes met and then they both giggled. Hermione had been surprised to find out that Neville and Pansy were together at first, but now that she knew Pansy, it didn't surprise her as much. Opposites attracted when the puzzle pieces lined up, and everything that Neville lacked, Pansy possessed. They fit together well.

"Back to it," Pansy said, holding her fingers up again. "What number were we on? Oh! Fourth, Draco likes a good face fuck. He -"

" _Pansy_!" Hermione cried, her hands going to her own cheeks. She was blushing so hard that she felt overheated. "That's too much. I'm just _humoring_ you, remember?!"

"Well, I'm just humoring _your_ attempt to humor _me_!" Pansy cried back. "And he likes a good face fuck, okay?"

Hermione groaned and dropped her entire head into her hands. "Pansy."

Pansy went on as though this weren't the most embarrassing, crass conversation Hermione had ever had.

"Fifth, he really doesn't like when the witch takes control. At all. He doesn't like when things feel like they aren't going his way. Probably because he's an only child. Sixth, he _does_ like when the witch _initiates_. That's okay with him, provided that the moment he accepts, you submit. _But_! But, but, but!" She held up one finger. "He has never, ever _once_ slept with me without my consent. I can't say the same for other witches, but with me, he _always_ asked for my consent first."

At this, Hermione's curiosity became the slightest bit piqued. "That's . . . Surprising and yet it shouldn't be. Since it's being a decent wizard."

"Yes," Pansy agreed. "Believe me, it actually is surprising, knowing him. I mean, just look at everything I've just listed off. He _really_ likes being the dominant one."

"Apparently," Hermione whispered.

Pansy said, "What else can I say? I mean, that's pretty much it, if you're just trying to sleep with him once or twice."

"You're forgetting that he doesn't even fancy me. He barely tolerates me now."

Pansy's lips twisted to the side in thought. "Well, then there's something that we don't know. Something must have changed at some point. Should I talk to him?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. "No, no. Don't - don't do that. I will confront him when the time is right. I'm sure whatever it is that happened is a simple misunderstanding, whether on my part or his."

"Maybe it's as simple as that. You could try to initiate something, and see how he reacts?"

"What if he . . ." Hermione averted her eyes. "Rejects me?"

"You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?"

Hermione sighed. Yes, she was a Gryffindor. She was supposed to be brave and tough. But this was different. This wasn't just having a simple crush or fancying someone. This was Draco. They had a Whomping Willow of a past between them, and it wasn't as simple as just sleeping with him. It would change things inside of her, she knew it.

Provided that was something he even wanted.

"It's a good thing this conversation was hypothetical," Hermione said, offering Pansy a smile. "Let's go back to our dorms now."

"Just remember," Pansy said as she helped Hermione to her feet. "Draco isn't the same person that he was before the war. _That_ Draco might have rejected you. I can't see this one doing it. I mean, it has to have been months since his last shag. And he was interested in you - that much was _clear_. You might have more luck than you think."

As they nixed the charms on the corridor and couch, and Pansy leaned down to pick her pin back up, Hermione allowed her thoughts to roam.

She didn't like the term fetish. She didn't like the term kink, either. It made everything sound so . . . So simple.

It wasn't simple. Not for Hermione. Not when she thought about the nights they'd spent working on the library, and the little jokes they'd shared. When she thought about her ordeal in the well, it truly felt like the only thing that could calm her down was thinking of the gentle way he'd treated her. How calm he'd remained, even when she was panicking. How sweet he was, holding her while she cried.

And now he hated her.

He was sure to reject her if she tried to initiate anything. Hermione may have been a Gryffindor, but she'd never been able to handle rejection. She still thought often of First Year, when she'd cried for an hour in the bathroom after hearing Ron, Harry, and their Housemates gossiping about her in one of the castle courtyards. She thought of it often as a painful moment that, even though healed, had scarred her heart.

Offering up her _body_ was a completely new world. Her experiences with Ron were horrid and not at all what she'd expected from sex. And Draco's interests, while thrilling, made her nervous.

Even if he did fancy her in return, how could she live up to someone like Pansy? How could she, when she'd never even been able to tell Ron when he was hurting her?

 _Merlin, I'm a walking contradiction,_ she thought as they made their way to the moving staircase room. _I helped take down the most dangerous dark wizard in decades, and I'm terrified of rejection. I'm a Gryffindor. How does this make sense?_

Pansy's voice broke into her thoughts. "Just so you know, Draco's a . . . One and done sort of wizard. If he's not interested in you as a person, he will sleep with you and then move on and not sweat about it. Er - well, at least, that's how he was before the war. During the war, I think we slept together twice? But we were never actually _together_. To think of it, I don't know if he's ever had a girlfriend . . ."

The pitter-patter of feet.

Pansy and Hermione stopped.

Down in the lantern light of a small corridor, Hermione could see two students. She wasn't sure what Year they were, but they looked to be older. It was two boys, and they had obviously been caught snogging. All four students looked at one another, waiting.

"Gonna loosen up or keep being wand in the mud?" Pansy murmured. "Which do you choose?"

Hermione pursed her lips. She had two choices. She could either give the students detention, like she had to the student the previous night. Or she could simply let these students go.

She was brave, and tough, and a Gryffindor. Harry and Ron weren't here for her to break the rules with, but that didn't mean she wasn't behind some of their shenanigans.

If she couldn't face down the inner turmoil of breaking the rules without them, then how could she face down the possibility of Draco's rejection?

"Please get back to your common rooms," Hermione called to the students with an air of finality drifting about her. "Remember that there's a curfew!"

The two wizards clutched each other's hands as they rushed by. They thanked Hermione and Pansy both. From the looks of it, one was a Slytherin and the other was a Ravenclaw. With two small waves, the boys went rushing back down the hall.

"I'll bet you thirty-five galleons of that Order of Merlin money that they're just going to find another corridor," Pansy said.

"I'm not paying you anything," Hermione said. "But I'm fairly certain you're right."

When she looked back up at Pansy, they were both grinning.

Later, when they got back to the Gryffindor portrait and Pansy dropped her off, the Fat Lady looked surprised to see them.

"Hmm," she said from the canvas, sipping her wine, "you're out awfully late, girls."

"We were doing rounds," Hermione said.

"They took us awhile," Pansy added.

"Well," the Fat Lady said, "I suppose I won't alert the Headmistress."

The two girls turned to one another, Hermione leaning her weight on her good leg.

"Thank you, Pansy," she said with a small smile. "For everything. For becoming my friend and for talking to me about this."

"Don't get all sappy on me." Pansy tilted her head to the side. "What are you going to do?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. I have to think about it."

"Well, whatever you do, just know that Draco's not like other wizards," Pansy said, pushing her hair behind her ears. "He's been through Hell and trust me: he _knows_ his sins. I think he just doesn't know how to atone for them. None of us really do. But we're trying. _He's_ trying. Once you figure out why he's angry, then I think you'll be able to fix this. Whether you do it with a kiss or your words, I don't think he's leaving this school without resolving things between you."

"How do you know that?" Hermione whispered.

"I dunno," Pansy said, giving her a small, hopeful smile. "It's just a feeling. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, yeah? Also, you're welcome."

"For what?"

"Giving you something to touch yourself to." Pansy wriggled her eyebrows and turned to go. "I'll tell him to take you on rounds next time. I think you know what to do now."

Hermione watched her go. When Pansy had faded into the darkness, Hermione turned to face the portrait.

"Trouble with your wizard?" The Fat Lady chortled and lifted her wine glass. "I've always found that if you give them a wink, a smile, and sashay about with your hips, it drives them _mad_."

Hermione held back a laugh. "How would you know? You've been stuck inside there for your entire life. _Catulus iecur."_

The portrait scoffed in indignation and then, without another word, swung open. Hermione stepped inside, feeling the canvas slapping her rear as it slammed shut behind her. She shook her head.

The Fat Lady was getting more and more bitter with every year that went by.


	10. Chapter 10

**Small**

**Chapter 10 - Breathe**

O

This was a bad idea.

Rolling her skirt up like Pansy's was a _bad_ _idea_. It wasn't part of her "look," if she could say she possessed one. A shorter skirt wasn't going to magically make Draco interested in her, or suddenly turn him _un-_ angry.

Currently, Hermione stood in front of the full-body mirror beside her dorm room bed. She'd taken the stretchy waistband of her pleated plaid skirt and she'd rolled it down three times. Her skirt, which normally fell to her knees, now swept along the middle of her thighs. It was March, so it wouldn't be _too_ cold. And with her white button-up and a nice, overlarge cardigan, it looked . . .

Well, it looked cute.

It wasn't like the other witches at school didn't roll their skirts. In fact, aside from First and Second Years, most girls at Hogwarts rolled their skirts. The professors rarely said anything. Godric, even Snape had let it fly when he was stalking the corridors.

Hermione chewed her lower lip. This was a bad idea. The other girls who did this looked attractive, like the outfits were made to fit their bodies. But Hermione - with her short legs and the way the cardigan dwarfed her body and almost covered the bottom few inches of the pleats - felt like she looked like an overgrown child.

A pout lowered her face.

She was supposed to be a Gryffindor. She'd done things most students at Hogwarts - most _Aurors_ at the _Ministry_ , even - would never do. Couldn't she wear her uniform the way the other girls did?

The door opened and in walked Romilda Vane. She had her books cradled in one arm, and she stumbled to a stop in the doorway with an excited expression on her face.

"Hermione!" she gasped. "You look adorable!"

Hermione blushed and turned to face her. "You think so?"

"Yes!" Romilda went to her bed and set her books down. She fixed Hermione with a mischievous smile. "Are you trying to impress someone? A witch or wizard, perhaps?"

Hermione shook her head and lied. "No. I just felt like dressing . . . A little more like the other girls. I'm glad you like it, though. I wasn't certain."

"Well, it looks really very cute." Romilda went to her trunk and began to rummage through it. The thick strands of her wavy, dark brown hair fell forward over her shoulders as she did so.

"Where were you Saturday night?" Hermione asked as she went to pull her black thigh-high cotton socks on.

After Pansy had left and Hermione had gone up to her shared room, the other two girls in their four-person dorm were fast asleep, but Romilda's bed was empty. It was Monday now, and Hermione had been wondering where Romilda had gone off to.

"Me? Oh . . ." Romilda stood up straight and eyed Hermione somewhat strangely. "Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione blinked, a bit taken aback at the sudden misdirection. She felt unease swirling in her abdomen. "Of course."

"Did you . . . Were you and Malfoy ever together at any point?"

"No." The unease shifted, turning to stone and sinking down. Hermione stuffed her feet into her combat boots and laced them up. "We're - ah, we were just friends. Why?"

Romilda pulled a journal from her trunk and then went to her bed. She sat down on it, leaning her back against the headboard. "I was with him on Saturday night."

Hermione felt her words slam into her heart like a poison-tipped arrow. She was assailed by a myriad of emotions that she'd only felt once before, when she saw Lavender and Ron snogging during Sixth Year. Anger, sadness, hurt.

Envy.

"You -" Hermione lost her voice for a moment, so she cleared her throat. "You slept with Malfoy?"

"Why's that your business? Is he your wizard, or not?" Romilda fixed her with a withering stare. "The entire school knows that Selwyn tried to kill you, and then Malfoy destroyed him. So, are you two together or not?"

"No," Hermione breathed, hands trembling. Her eyes stung.

_Why does this hurt so badly?_

"Then," Romilda said, reaching for her bedside table for a self-inking quill, "you have no reason to question what I do."

Hermione scoffed, recalling briefly the love potion Romilda had tried to slip to Harry in Sixth Year. Romilda was the lovesick type. She always had been.

"He can't possibly be your boyfriend," Hermione said. "Unless you slipped him a love potion like you tried to do to Harry. You failed, by the way."

 _Where did_ that _come from? I'm not like this. I'm not . . . Catty like this. Besides, maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe they were only studying?_

Romilda's green eyes flashed. "Boyfriend? Malfoy doesn't do relationships, Hermione. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows that if he takes you to bed, it's only for one night." She tossed her hair back and pulled her knees to her chest with the journal resting on her thighs. "One really amazing, mind-blowing night."

Hermione balled her hands into fists, all earlier positivity dissolving within seconds. "You slept with him?"

To think, Hermione had been so foolish as to actually _touch_ herself on Saturday _and_ Sunday night to the stupid fantasy Pansy had painted in her mind. And the entire time on Saturday, Draco was with Romilda.

All the things Hermione had imagined, all the things that Pansy had told her Draco liked to do . . .

Had he done them with Romilda?

"I did," Romilda said, voice flat as she began to write in the journal. "And I think I'll do it again. You have no right to be angry with me. You've just said it yourself that you and him were only ever just friends. And since you used past-tense, I'd say that Snitch has escaped. You should have moved more quickly."

Hermione tasted something bitter in the back of her throat.

What occurred at Azkaban to make this happen?

_What did I do wrong?_

"Well," Hermione said, her throat aching from holding in the desire to weep, "I hope you had a nice time."

She went to her bed and grabbed her messenger bag. After she pulled it onto her shoulder, she made her way back to the door. As Hermione limped out of the room, her chest constricting painfully and ripping itself into shreds in her chest, Romilda said one last thing to her.

"You can't have _everything_ you want, Hermione Granger. Viktor Krum, Cormac McLaggen, Ron, and Harry. You walk around like you're so innocent, when you know you get anyone you want. If there's anyone you don't need in your repertoire, it's Malfoy. It's no great loss, so . . . Just let it be."

Hermione felt stupid. Wearing an outfit like this, limping about like an invalid, and having to carry the memory with her that she was so pathetic that she _touched_ herself to the thought of someone who hated her again . . . She ran her fingers through her curls, tousling them to the side in a frustrated manner.

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to imagine that it was Romilda who had been pinned to a wall, or a bookshelf, or a bed, writhing beneath him.

She was just so stupid.

O

Draco awaited her outside the portrait.

He wore his robes open over a black sweater vest, his Slytherin tie, a white collared shirt, and black trousers. Everything was slim and fitted and his hair was freshly cut on the sides. His hair was long on top, as it always was, and falling into his eyes from the way he was looking down at the stone floor. He had one hand in his trousers' pocket, and one wrapped around the strap of his satchel.

So handsome, yet so infuriating.

Hermione had never felt more betrayed, and she knew she had no right to be. Whatever had happened at Azkaban - whatever had changed for him - she knew that the only thing she'd ever given him was a box of rock candy. She had _no_ right to feel betrayed, and Romilda was correct.

She should have moved more quickly.

"Did you have a nice night?" Hermione asked, glaring daggers up at him.

Draco pushed away from the wall, narrowing his eyes. "Last night?"

"Or Saturday," she bit out, vibrating with anger. "Whichever."

He just watched her. Around them, students milled about, headed down to breakfast. Several of them looked their way, but for the most part, the drama of Hermione, Selwyn, Malfoy, and the well was in the past for them. The newer gossip had already begun to make its rounds.

"From what I heard, your bed was kept nice and warm Saturday. I know these March nights are quite chilly in the castle," Hermione said. "Even more so in the dungeons, I suspect."

He held her gaze and she saw him running his tongue along the front of his top teeth. He was nodding, as though he were trying to hold back an angry outburst.

"Right. So, I fucked Romilda Vane. I'm sure that's what you're on about." His tone was icy and his words lanced through the firestorm of her fury. "Are all Gryffindors this chatty with one another? First and last Gryffindor I'll ever -"

Hermione cut him off. "Are you seeing her now?"

"Who does or doesn't warm my bed is none of your business, Granger," Draco said, his tone just as flat as Romilda's had been. "I'll fuck whomever I please."

Hermione's heart jumped again. "Stop being so . . . Crude."

"Why?" His eyebrows rose. They were still five feet apart, but it felt like he was looming over her from mere inches away. "Would you rather it was you I fucked?"

Hermione's mind warped. Hundreds of mental images, fantasies, and dreams rushed past in her mind. Memories of the way her own fingers had searched her body the way she wanted Draco to. Memories of the way she'd had to stifle her cries with her pillows. Absolutely mortifying.

She felt like a fool with an unrequited crush.

Draco had probably never liked her. He'd been her friend, but she was so strange of a person that she'd actually thought that he might fancy her.

Her chest squeezed in. His gaze weighed as much as the core of a star. She wanted to sink to the floor, into it, to travel the pipes like Moaning Myrtle and drown in the Black Lake.

He frowned, watching her for a second.

"Take a deep breath, Granger."

She felt the flush of yet more embarrassment rising, and she clutched a hand to her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed herself to calm down. When she opened them, he was taking a step toward her. She held up a hand, and he stopped.

Hermione needed to be more careful. The feelings she was experiencing now were _not_ that far off from the ones she experienced when she'd had those panic attacks right after her ordeal.

"Please just take me to class," she whispered, refusing to lift her eyes from the ground.

"Fine."

He offered her his elbow, but she gripped the loose fabric of his sleeve.

O

The day passed with an aching slowness.

Hermione's leg hurt, though that was beginning to become redundant. It always hurt. But now, her chest hurt. It felt like she was existing in a constant state of anxiety. She was too overwhelmed to even go up to her room during her rest times, so she just stayed out in the courtyard on the main floor and tried to focus on the Spring breeze.

Things were tense with Draco, to say the least. He clearly didn't want to have to walk her around everywhere, but they weren't speaking to one another. Hermione didn't have anything to say to him, and he didn't have anything to say to her. The most they conversed was when he came to take her to the Dining Hall for lunch and she refused him.

Without a word, he had turned and walked back inside the castle.

Several times in the courtyard during her skipped lunch period, she debated just limping all the way to Gryffindor by herself so she could change. She even considered standing up and rolling her skirt's waistband up so she could pull the hem back down to her knees. However, she really _did_ feel cute, and it was the only positive thing she had to hold onto for today. She felt like if she let go of that, she'd fall into a panic attack.

She wished she could just turn off her feelings and hate him again, but she couldn't. When she really thought about it, she'd never hated him. She had pitied him, been irritated by him, and been wary of him. But she'd never hated him.

When it came time to go to Advanced Potions, Hermione stuffed the book she'd been reading into her bag. Her leg still hurt and she felt like she'd been run over by a train full of separate worries. She sighed and then hauled herself to her feet. The last thing she wanted right now was for Draco to touch her by helping her up.

Upon reaching for her bag, she involuntarily hopped on her good leg an inch or so, swiping at the leather in an accidental manner. The bag tumbled to the ground and out spilled its contents. Parchment, a textbook, scrolls, the novel she'd been reading, an inkpot, and quills rolled about. The sight pulled a sigh out of Hermione's chest.

Fantastic.

Hermione began the slow, agonizing descent down onto her knees to collect the items. She bit her lip, holding back the desperate urge to whimper in pain as each second slowly ticked by. One by one, she grabbed the items and put them back inside of her bag. Her thigh throbbed harder and harder, the wound feeling like it was going to burst and overwhelm her with anguish. She tried to balance herself on her other knee, using the bench for support.

 _Breathe,_ she told herself, even as her panic began to rise again. _Just breathe._

She closed her eyes and then opened them.

Feet. And legs. Black trousers and the fabric of Slytherin robes.

"I didn't realize you were wearing such a short skirt today, Granger," Draco said, his voice a low, strained growl that was as snarky as it was angry. "Are you _trying_ to give the entire world a perfect view of your knickers? Or is it just for my benefit?"

Hermione felt her skin prickling with goose pebbles. She froze, her hand still reaching for the novel. As if on cue, a slight gust of wind swept through the courtyard, nearly flipping her skirt up in the back. She moved to push it back down, the pain increasing.

This was humiliating.

_I should have just unrolled the waistband. Now he thinks I wanted him to see my knickers!_

Draco reached for her elbows and hauled her up to her feet. His silver eyes peered down into hers, looking as guarded as a dragon's treasure. The breeze had pushed his hair forward to graze his cheeks, giving him a youthful look. Hermione had the strangest urge to reach up and comb it back, to feel her nails scraping along his scalp.

As if she could even reach.

The pain decreased, but the weakness in her thigh increased so exponentially that Hermione couldn't stand up straight. She let out a small cry and started to collapse, but Draco's arm slid around her back and his fingers gripped the dip of her waist. She felt it like a hot brand to her flesh, even through her cardigan.

He held her up, pressing her body into the warmth of his side. Hermione's hand pressed flat to his sternum on reflex. She felt the thudding of his heart against his chest.

Hermione was unsure which was more embarrassing: him seeing her knickers from bending over on the ground, or her being unable to stand.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I just need a moment."

"You should have waited for me," he said from above her, and he sounded irritated. "I would have picked it up."

Hermione felt the mix of panicked emotions she'd been feeling since her conversation with Romilda. She moved away from Draco and sat down on the bench, keeping her eyes on her bare thigh as she massaged it above the sock. It lifted the hem of the skirt a bit, but she was too busy staring at her scar to care.

It was hideous and red.

Well, reddish-pink, really.

It was circular, with ragged edges and jagged lines that spun in a circle towards the center. Just observing it caused a phantom twinge of pain to shoot from the front of her thigh to the back, where she knew a similar scar existed. She pressed the center of the wound with her middle finger, ginger in the amount of force she used and winced.

The sun shone above them, but the air was cool. There were only a few white clouds in the sky, sparse as they spread across the expanse of cerulean and floated by. The breeze alternated between light and strong, occasionally lifting strands of their hair and blowing them to the left and right.

Inside, Hermione could still feel her anxiety pounding. Growing. Expanding. It contrasted with the peacefulness of the courtyard.

Draco sat down beside her, handing the novel to her as well as her bag. He scraped his hair back.

"Is that your scar?" he asked.

"Yes," she said in a quiet voice. She wondered if it would fade to white or brown. "Madam Pomfrey says I may have pain for the rest of my life. I'm take my potions every day, hoping it won't end up that way."

She could feel Draco's eyes on her legs, forcing her to become aware of just how short her skirt was.

Perhaps she should only have rolled it twice?

With a suddenness, Draco turned towards her and reached for her thigh. The movement was slight, slow. Hermione felt the breath leaving her lungs as he drew closer to it. Before she could even think to tell him not to, the tips of his forefingers grazed the large scar right at the edge of the circle.

A ripple of something intense slid along her body the moment his skin touched hers. Unlike with Pansy, Hermione went rigid and stayed that way.

"I guess I couldn't save you from this, could I?" he said in a voice as soft as a whisper.

"It's okay," Hermione squeaked out, not knowing what else to say.

He began to trace the outline of the outermost whorl. Hermione remained perfectly still, feeling like the looping of his trail was wrapping vines around her lungs.

Why was he doing this? He hated her. He was angry with her for something. He'd slept with Romilda.

But his touch felt good. Relaxing. It felt like it was relieving the ache in her muscle. This was just like when he'd stroked her forearm scar after her bath the day he'd rescued her. What would it be like for him to massage it?

"It's barely noticeable from a distance, I bet," he said.

"Y-Yes," Hermione choked out, tripping over the word as her breathing hitched. "I'm sure."

His hand rounded the bottom of the scar and moved up. Hermione wanted to moan.

A very vibrant image of him sliding his hand underneath her skirt, right there in the courtyard, flashed through her mind.

She bit her lip as hard as she could. So hard that it almost hurt. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bench as his finger traced the dips and hollows of the mottled flesh. Her skin there was so sensitive that it overwhelmed her. Every part of her body had caught fire.

His finger moved around, and around, and around. It was moving towards the center, tracing a hypnotizing spiral that she couldn't look away from.

She didn't know why he was doing this. She didn't know why she was _letting_ him do this.

 _Because even though he slept with Romilda,_ her own thoughts whispered in the depths of her mind, _you still want him._

He added another finger. It felt like he was painting flames of pleasure into her flesh, like he was trying to burn her alive with fire from his body. It shot straight to the pit of her stomach and coiled there like a snake waiting to strike.

She didn't dare look up.

Hermione's toes curled tight in her shoes. Just like what Pansy had made her feel the night before, she felt a pulsing in her core that seemed to thump in tune with her heartbeat. It was difficult to take a breath. She wanted to fall into panic, but at the same time, she didn't want him to stop.

 _Please,_ she wanted to say, as his finger went around . . . And around . . . And around. _Please, please._

Please, what?

She didn't know.

"Have you shown anyone else?" he whispered.

Gods above, why was he _whispering_? Why was he saying that? What was . . .

The memory of his words showed itself to her again. " _You're as good as mine, Granger."_

Hermione shook her head, still watching the movement of his fingers. She didn't speak.

"Good," he said. "Don't."

She wanted to close her legs, or spread them wider. To throw herself upon him and snog the living daylights out of him until he did everything to her that Ron had never been able to do. She'd never felt so alive. Every nerve ending was alight.

His hand moved up. Slow. Steady. Past the top of the scar.

Hermione's chest screamed for air, but she couldn't remember how to breathe. She was holding the edge of the bench so tight that it hurt her fingers. Her legs were shaking and her teeth clenched together. Her eyes were wide with what she assumed was terror, but was really just panic.

His other hand went to the top of the bench, and suddenly, it was almost like his arm was around her.

 _Don't move, don't move, don't move,_ Hermione chanted inside her mind.

Was he looking at her legs? Could he see them shaking? She didn't want to look up to check. She was panicking. Absolutely panicking. Feeling dizzy, she managed a few short breaths before she held it again.

His fingertips played with the hem of her skirt.

"Did Pansy give you fashion tips?" he said, and his voice was rough like gravel.

Hermione averted her eyes. She couldn't look anymore. She couldn't look at his hand, her body, him . . . She stared at the Grecian stone pillars that lined the left side of the courtyard.

"Granger," he said, and his tone was different. It reminded her of the things Pansy had said; how he liked to talk, but she didn't always have to respond. He liked the reactions.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Her skin - her entire _body_ was still humming with desire, but she was smart. Logical.

If it had hurt her that badly that he slept with Romilda, then he was not a person she wanted to sleep with one time.

She had feelings for him.

" _Answer me."_

" _Yes_ ," she blurted out, still gazing off to the left. "I mean, no. Well, sort-of. She told me to . . . To loosen up. And if you're trying to give me a compliment, you should just say it looks cute, instead of -"

"You look cute."

Hermione was silent. Draco's hand remained still.

Not "it looks." Not "the outfit looks."

_You._

"What _other_ tips did Pansy give you?" he finally asked.

Hermione was two steps away from a panic attack. She could feel it. She sucked in her breath, glad for the breeze that blew her hair forward to cover her face.

" _You're as good as mine."_

No. No, it couldn't be.

Pansy hadn't said anything about him being possessive.

 _And besides,_ she thought as she took his proffered elbow and gripped his sleeve, _he just slept with Romilda. If he had any interest in me at all, it's passed._

She turned to look at him, fully expecting his eyes to be on her legs, where his hand was still touching the hem of her skirt.

He was studying her face, watching the painting he'd just created.

Watching her.

Hermione turned bright red and, faster than she thought possible in her state, she pushed herself to her feet.

"If who warms your bed is none of my business," she said, breathless and standing on quivering legs, "then my conversations with Pansy are none of yours."

He arched one eyebrow, but his eyes flashed. It made her stomach twist again, in multiple coils that wrapped tight. This feeling was unlike any she'd ever felt before. She felt small. More than small. She felt tiny and breakable.

The trail his fingers had left behind felt imprinted into her skin.

"We're going to be late for class," she said, and she began to limp towards the castle entrance.

He caught up to her and she took his sleeve, as usual.

No more words were exchanged.

O

It was a lecture day in Advanced Potions.

Lecture days were the days when Slughorn droned on about potion theory at the front of the classroom for ninety minutes. Normally, this would be fascinating for Hermione, but there were two problems.

The first issue was that the potions Slughorn chose were always so dull. Today, he'd chosen a color-changing potion that shifted the color of flowers while they were still growing. Hermione knew she could do this with Muggle food coloring, but she wasn't about to raise her hand and say something that could exacerbate her already growing panic.

The second issue was that Draco and Hermione were late. That meant that the only seats available were at the back of the classroom. The entire back row was empty, so they didn't have to sit beside each other. And judging by the arguments they'd been having, Hermione didn't expect him to want to.

 _And he slept with Romilda,_ she thought, _so I don't want to sit beside him, either._

Hermione went to the right side of the room.

Draco went to the left.

Even though he'd had the same idea in mind as her, she still felt the same painful clench in her heart that she'd felt when she spoke to Romilda.

Slughorn barely noticed their presence in the full classroom. He just kept babbling at the front of the room, his frontside to the chalkboard and his back to the students. Several students were asleep with their heads tucked into their arms.

Sixty minutes to go.

Hermione tried to jot notes down, but she couldn't seem to calm down enough. Her thoughts spun in a whirling tornado in her mind, and not a single one of them made any sense.

Draco had slept with Romilda. _He doesn't want me._

Hermione had feelings for him. _And I'm a fool for it._

Romilda didn't seem to like her very much. _I feel like no one really likes me._

Something had happened at Azkaban to make Draco dislike Hermione. _I made him hurt Sebastien. It's my fault._

Hermione knew what it was like to lay at the bottom of a well for hours upon hours, freezing to death with a grievous wound and now, she might never walk without a limp again.

_I still see that same circle of stars when I close my eyes._

Well.

She was panicking.

Hermione clenched her hands around her knees, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her socks. It felt like she was being pulled down into the event horizon of a black hole, like it was tearing her apart, pushing her together, and shredding her all at the same time.

Struggling for breath, Hermione stared at her parchment. She read the only words she had written over and over. _Slughorn says . . . Slughorn says . . . Slughorn says . . ._

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself to take in short, quiet breaths. She couldn't breathe. She could not breathe.

She clutched a hand to her chest, clenching her fist around the fabric of her cardigan. Ahead of her, no one turned around. Slughorn continued to talk. No one was paying attention to her. No one could see that she couldn't breathe.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. It was too hot. She wanted to take her cardigan off, but she felt paralyzed. Stiff. There was no way to move; not without breaking every bone in her body and causing the entire Earth to spin out of orbit.

And the panic levels continued to rise.

There were tears in her eyes. She took as deep a breath as she could manage, preparing to burst out into a fit of sobs. It was like a tidal wave. She felt so small compared to it, and she knew it was going to sweep her away. She wasn't going to be able to -

The seat beside her slid out. Someone sat down in it.

Draco.

His hand covered hers where it rested on her knee, his fingers prising hers away from her flesh. He turned it upward and then he pressed their palms together. She looked at him through blurred vision, still trying to catch her breath. The look in his eyes was unreadable yet somehow still sincere.

He twined their fingers together in her lap.

Then, he picked up her quill with his left hand. She watched his face as he wrote something down on the center of her parchment. A strand of his hair had fallen forward. Focusing on it and on the way his longer dark lashes curled up from his eyelids helped her calm down the smallest of amounts.

Focusing on how beautiful he was.

Their eyes met again, and then he looked down at the parchment. Hermione followed his line of sight. He'd written five words.

_Breathe. Don't cry. I'm here._

Hermione closed her eyes. It was rather difficult not to cry when he was being like this again. When he was being the wizard who saved her from dying in the well.

When he cared.

She gripped his hand tightly, her knuckles whitening from the force of her hold. Her chest continued to squeeze, her lungs and heart melding together into one mass, but she felt steady. She felt anchored.

Slughorn faced the class and continued to speak.

Hermione felt dizzy. She needed to calm down enough to breathe. She was going to faint if she didn't. She closed her eyes and tried to count, to think of calming words. She tried to bring calm into existence. She tried anything and everything, but it felt like her panic was determined to stay at the maximum.

So, she held his hand. She held it as tight and as hard as she could, all while her other hand dug its nails into her right kneecap. It was warm, and soft. Warm and soft and real.

Taunting.

 _Why is he even bothering to help me?_ Her anxious, frenetic thoughts screamed at her. _Why is he pretending to care? He's made it clear that he's upset with me._

_Was it because of Sebastien? Does he blame me for his arrest? Does he think I tricked him into caring what happened to me? What did he mean in the library when he said the word 'experiment' '_

_What if he thinks some strange, ancient Pureblood ideal that Muggle-borns are sorceresses? What if he thinks I cursed him to care for me?_

_He hates me. He hates me. He hates me._

_Godric, why is he holding my hand?!_

Slughorn turned around to write on the board. The moment he did, several people began to whisper to one another and play games on their parchments. The entire class was bored.

Except Hermione, who was having an elongated anxiety attack.

It was horrible.

Hot air rustled through her hair and she jolted with terror. She turned her head and looked up. Draco was looking down at her, inches away from her ear. He clearly wanted to whisper something to her, so she turned to face the front again. She tilted her ear up towards him.

Her heart wouldn't stop racing.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" he breathed, and a series of chills so violent rippled through her body that her teeth knocked together and her arms quivered. "It calms you down, yeah?"

Hermione had no room in her heart for anymore panic, and no room for shyness. She just wanted this to be over with. She didn't know how he truly felt, and she wasn't going to ask. It was best that she just accepted the help.

She nodded.

The fingers of his left hand began to stroke the back of her hand. They moved in circles on her skin, drawing pictures that only he knew. It was like hot coals being placed on ice, slowly melting holes into it that allowed her panic to leak out. They both watched him do it, and Hermione felt herself calming down by the moment. Her fingers gave an involuntary twitch and then folded down over his knuckles.

"It's all right," he murmured, only loud enough for her to hear. "Isn't it?"

Hermione didn't know why, but the questions made it easier for her to grasp that there was nothing to panic about. Whether her fears were true or not - whether he was secretly angry with her and just doing this because he'd been tasked with her care in order to keep his wand, or whether he truly wanted to help her - there was nothing to panic about.

She wasn't at the bottom of a well. Her leg was healing. Sebastien was in Azkaban, and she wouldn't have to testify for weeks, possibly months. Her life was not in danger.

She could breathe.

He traced designs on her skin until class ended, gazing down at their twined fingers as though he were entranced. Hermione didn't know where to look, so she let her eyes fall shut. If he looked at her at any point, she didn't know.

She sort-of hoped he did, though.

When their hands came apart, he was cold as stone once more.


	11. Chapter 11

**UNRELIABLE NARRATOR ALERT**

* * *

**Small**

**Chapter Eleven - Spite**

O

May 17th was the day.

Sebastien's trial was set for 8:30AM in the morning on the 17th of May, and Hermione was expected to testify. Sebastien would be present at the time of her testimony, and no outsiders were permitted.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the fresh bout of concern that washed over her. She rolled the Ministry's notice back into a scroll and set it down beside her on the bed. She gazed out the window, glad that Romilda and the other girls were gone to breakfast already.

Tears began to spill down her cheeks.

This was going to be so overwhelming. Having to see him again, to look into those soulless eyes. To see the face that haunted her nightmares. To have to relive the ordeal in the well alone. To remember what it felt like to scream and plead and have it do nothing to help her.

_"_ _You're no Golden Girl. You're just a small, scared little girl."_

She could still feel the sticks and loamy earth against her back as he dragged her.

Draco was probably still waiting outside in the corridor. She wondered if he would wait as long as it took, or if he would eventually assume she wasn't coming down.

It was now Friday the 12th of March, and they still weren't back to the way they'd been before. He maintained the routine of walking her to and from class and meals, but outside of that, they didn't interact. He hadn't finished the library yet, which was strange since he was able to use his wand now. Hermione wondered if he was just sitting around in there. She wanted to check or to ask, but it seemed pointless.

Sometimes, Hermione wondered if they'd ever been friends at all.

Every time she was in the dorm room at the same time as Romilda, Hermione wondered if she'd just come from being _with_ Draco. It filled her heart with envy and sadness. She still didn't know what she'd done wrong, and her anxiety had gotten so bad that even the thought of asking him made her chest seize up.

She wished she could feel angry with him. Anger was more bearable than thinking she wasn't good enough.

That was it. She couldn't keep holding all of this inside anymore. She was going to write to Harry.

Pansy and Hannah were her friends, but they wouldn't understand her conflict. Not the way Harry would. For Pansy, getting Draco and Hermione "together" was naught but a fun game. For Hannah, it was just gossip.

Harry would be able to comfort her.

Hermione wrote to him, telling him everything that she'd been feeling. She told him from the beginning, starting with the rescue and working her way until the current week. Making sure to be as frank as possible _without_ letting him know about her sexual feelings for Draco, she asked Harry one question that was sure to get her some sort of helpful advice.

 _Please tell me,_ she wrote. _Is there something wrong with me that would make him not want to be my friend anymore?_

At the end, she asked him to please not show the letter to Ron, signed it, and then sent it off to the Burrow.

She didn't go down to breakfast, choosing instead to curl up in bed and find comfort in the steady growling of her stomach. She wasn't sure she was going to go to her classes, either. Perhaps it was best to take a sick day. Draco would understand.

Perhaps he wouldn't even care.

An hour later, the door to the dorm creaked open and Romilda stepped in.

"Hi, Hermione," she said.

Hermione tore her gaze away from the blue sky outside of the window and looked across the room.

"Hi, Romilda."

Romilda fidgeted with her fingernails in front of her, and then she took a couple more steps into the room.

"I'm sorry," she said, "about what I said to you before. It was cruel."

Hermione, who had long since finished weeping, sat up without bothering to fix her unruly curls. She gave Romilda a wary look. They weren't exactly friends, but they'd known each other long enough to be acquaintances. Still, the things she'd said felt unforgivable when Hermione was so sure she was shagging Draco on the regular.

"Thank you," she said.

"I just wanted to let you know that I lied. Not about the - the sleeping with him part." Romilda looked down. "But about the allusions I made. He's not my boyfriend, and I won't sleep with him again. He doesn't want to."

Hermione pursed her lips. That meant she'd _tried_ to sleep with him.

She couldn't deny she felt darkly gleeful at the fact that he'd declined her, though.

"Oh, I see," was all she said.

Romilda gave a heavy sigh. "Well, anyway . . . He's waiting downstairs for you. He walked back from breakfast with me. I told him I'd either come retrieve you, or pass a message."

"Tell him I'm unwell." Hermione laid back down, and then rethought. N.E.W.T.s were still coming up, and the end of the year was crucial. Missing one class was okay, but the others . . . "Actually, wait."

Romilda stopped at the door and turned to look over her shoulder at Hermione. "Yes?"

"Tell him to come back for lunch. I'm unwell, so I'm going to skive off Charms and rest through until then."

Romilda nodded and then left.

Once Hermione was alone, she allowed herself to process the new information.

It didn't change anything. He was angry with her for weeks before he slept with Romilda. Whatever had happened at Azkaban caused a permanent change in him.

At least, that's what she assumed.

She rolled over to face the wall. This was all so exhausting. It was hard not to feel somewhat selfish in this instance. He hadn't promised her anything with his words, but his actions spoke volumes. He'd saved her from the well and gone to prison for her.

But maybe that was the problem.

Or maybe it was something simpler. Something worse.

_Is it because I'm Muggle-born?_

O

"Hermione. Hermione, wake up."

Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and then back shut. Someone's hand shook her shoulder. She woke with a start and sat up, her hair a mess about her head. It was one of her Seventh Year roommates, Ellie Canterbury.

"Sorry to wake you," the younger girl said. She'd always been rather shy around Hermione. "Draco Malfoy is waiting downstairs for you."

Hermione frowned, feeling confused. She'd been sleeping so deeply. Her body was exhausted and her leg ached terribly. In the quiet, she could hear that the first rain of Spring was making itself apparent outside. It pounded down against the castle, the droplets of water tapping the windows.

"Is it time for lunch?" she asked, voice groggy as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Ellie's eyes widened. "Oh . . . No . . . Dinner's about to start."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. She glanced out the window again. It was dark and still raining. In the dorm room, the castle lanterns had flared to life.

Had she really slept all day?

"Okay," she said, still somewhat dizzy from having been woken from such a deep sleep. She grabbed her wand from the bedside table and summoned some clothing. "Tell him I'll meet him outside in a few minutes, could you?"

Ellie grimaced and twisted the fabric of her robes. "Well, you see . . . He's in the common room. And it's a bit tense."

Hermione blanched. She began frantically pulling her pyjamas off, heedless of Ellie's presence. She shoved herself into her button-up and skirt as fast as possible. She spoke as she did so.

"He's in the common room?! The Fat Lady let him in?! How did he get in here?! Oh, Ellie. That's against the _rules_. It's _beyond_ against the rules! Do you know what - Wait, you said tense? Who's down there with him?! _How did he get in here_?!"

"I let him in. He seemed . . ." Ellie sighed. "Well, he's frightening. He was in the corridor outside the portrait. He asked me if I'd seen you, and I panicked. And it's tense because of him. He doesn't seem - seem _comfortable_. . ."

Hermione's fingers paused on the button as she racked her brain.

Oh. She was supposed to meet him to walk her to the Dining Hall for lunch. But she slept all day. Her leg ached. Absentminded, she reached down to massage her sore muscle and then frowned.

Had he come back because he was worried?

No. He had to have come back out of obligation. It was common sense. If someone didn't come down for lunch and you were tasked with walking them to and from specific destinations, then you would continue to come back at the start of each class period to see if anything had changed. Common sense.

She wished it was because he was concerned.

"Okay, go down there," Hermione said as she stumbled to the mirror and tried to rearrange her curls into a style more presentable and less . . . Flattened on one side. "Go downstairs and tell him I'm going to be there in a moment."

Ellie nodded and then dashed out of the room.

Hermione willed her heart to settle. She was overreacting, of course. This anxiety was starting to get the best of her. She'd been managing it well, but now she was afraid it had returned. Perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey for a prescription of Calming Draught was in order.

She paused with her hands on the waistband of her skirt.

" _You look cute."_

Hermione bit her lower lip. She couldn't dress like that _every day . . ._

Except that she could. She could dress whichever way she wanted. Whichever way made her feel best inside. Whether Draco fancied her or not didn't matter. She could roll her skirt and wear cute things simply because she _wanted_ to, and nothing needed to come of it.

It was okay to insert herself into the world in a way that took up space, without needing to have a reason for it. A confident witch understood that feeling pretty did not equate to being insecure. She didn't have to choose one or the other: books or feeling good about her appearance.

She could have both.

Hermione rolled her skirt the same way that she had yesterday, tucked in her button-up shirt, and smiled at herself.

_Very cute indeed._

Once she was ready, she limped down the hallway. She could hear from where she was that the common room was full of people. One glance at the clock on the wall told her that dinner hadn't yet started.

She couldn't believe Draco had come into the Gryffindor common room. Had Ellie just let him in? Or had he asked to come in?

Things were so complicated.

Never once had they ever been together. Hermione had spent extra effort trying to ensure that everyone knew they _weren't_ together, and that they were just friends. So, even if he had slept with Romilda, Hermione had _no_ right to be angry.

It didn't stop her from feeling hurt.

Hermione wasn't exactly experienced in the realm of wizards. Viktor was her first boyfriend and he'd set the bar rather high; most men were _not_ like him. She'd had one horrible date with Cormac McLaggen, a wizard that every witch she knew would have _killed_ to go on a date with, and it had ended with her hiding behind a curtain. Then, she'd dated Ron.

That was no picnic.

But when it came to men in general, especially men who were sexually free like Draco Malfoy, she hadn't the slightest clue what was appropriate or acceptable. Her mind told her that he didn't belong to her, and therefore she had no claim to him. Her heart told her that she was in emotional pain.

She was confused.

Maybe she was barmy. Or maybe there had been some truth to what Romilda said. Maybe Hermione really was used to getting the things that she wanted. She'd wanted to win the war, and Voldemort was dead, so . . .

Perhaps Draco was something she simply couldn't have.

She stopped on the landing, struggling to catch her breath. The panic was growing again.

Pansy had been clear. Draco was a "one and done" sort of wizard. Hermione wasn't so sure she was _ready_ to be that type of witch. There was logic in understanding that.

In the back of her mind, however, she couldn't help but feel somewhat offended.

_If Romilda was good enough for him for one romp, why is he treating me so coldly? Am I just not good enough?_

She glanced down at her body, at her outfit and legs and the curled ends of her hair. There was nothing wrong with her appearance, and he'd certainly had no issues touching her scar yesterday.

The panic bloomed again.

 _Maybe my fear was right,_ she thought, her heart sinking. _Maybe it's really that simple._

Maybe it was because she was Muggle-born.

As she descended the stairs and the common room came into view, she could tell that things definitely were tense. But instead of the tension coming from the other students, it seemed to be coming entirely from Draco himself.

Draco stood just inside the portrait, looking awkward and gangly. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the room full of relaxed, gathered clusters of Gryffindors. He wore all-black: a blazer, black collared shirt, and black trousers, and he seemed to be playing with the button on the jacket. One hand kept cycling between combing his platinum hair back and rubbing the sharp line of his jaw. His dark brows were furrowed on his forehead.

He looked nervous.

Most of the students in the common room were waiting for dinner after the last class of the day. They were arranged in groups, some studying, some chatting amiably, and some playing games. No one seemed fazed by the fact that Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin, was lurking in the entryway. Ellie was standing in front of him, her blonde hair hanging down her back as the much shorter girl tilted her head up to speak with him.

"It's still fifteen minutes before dinner, Malfoy," Ellie was saying as Hermione padded up with her slight limp. "Did you want to have a seat?"

"No, that's . . ." Draco trailed off, his gaze sliding past Ellie to fall upon Hermione. "Granger."

Hermione stood beside Ellie, who was an inch taller than her, and gave her a smile. "I think we have to go now. It takes me awhile to get down there, and the last thing I need is to try to limp my way through a crowd of stampeding students."

"Oh, yes," Ellie said with a polite laugh. "That makes sense. Well . . . All right."

Hermione watched her go join her own friends across the room, and then she turned to look up at Draco.

"Inside the common room? Really?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "You know how many rules this breaks."

He narrowed his eyes down at her, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I haven't heard from you all day. Canterbury insisted, and your portrait didn't seem to have an issue with it."

Hermione twisted her lips. The Fat Lady was notorious for allowing rules to be broken. After all, there were multiple times when Hermione was younger that the Gryffindor portrait had turned a blind eye to her, Harry, and Ron's nightly excursions.

"That implies you care."

"Oh, to be sure," he said, his eyes searching hers with a blankness, as though waiting for her response already. "The thought of you struggling your way down the stairs brings me great amusement."

"Arsehole," she spat. She'd forgotten how rude he actually could be. "I'm not an invalid. I'm perfectly capable of walking down the stairs. If it weren't for your release stipulations, you wouldn't even be helping me to and fro. You'd be ignoring me."

"You're right," he said. The words whipped her. "I would."

Hermione stared up at him for a long moment. There were words on the tip of her tongue, waiting there to be released like caged wolves. She wanted to know why. She wanted to demand to know _why_.

But something held her back.

Fear.

_What if I ask him, and I don't like the answer?_

"Why do you look so nervous, anyway?" she asked, arms falling to her sides. She curled her fingers around the hem of her pleated skirt.

"Lions eat snakes, and we're all waiting for dinner," he said with a pointed raise of his brows. Then, he appraised her body, his eyes roving down and then back up. "Why do you look so Pansy-esque again?"

Hermione bristled. "I thought I told you if you wanted to give me a compliment, then you should be a little more straightforward. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be honest?"

"Awfully bold of you to assume I wanted to give you a compliment." His tone was icy, but Hermione tried not to let it chill her. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be humble? Like that oaf Hagrid?"

Ah, yes. There was the Malfoy she remembered.

Hermione pulled a face.

"Let's just go," she said, and she brushed past him.

The moment she placed her palm to the portrait, prepared to push it open, she felt a hand on her arm.

"A compliment isn't a compliment if it has to be forced out," Draco said, his voice sounding as light and quiet as ash. "And Malfoys don't fancy being forced to do things outside of their schedule."

Hermione felt a chill, and it wasn't menacing or cold. She looked up at him, but he was looking at the common room. At all the students who couldn't care less that he was here.

What did he mean by that?

The wolves escaped her mouth.

"Where did you quill my compliment in, then? Sometime before or after the next time you fuck Romilda Vane?"

His head snapped to look down at her, his glare molten hot.

"Depends how good you are," he snarled. "I usually wait to compliment until after I put my clothes back on."

A second passed where their gazes held. The gears rolled, shifted, and then clicked.

He was insinuating that he'd compliment her after getting her into bed. And even though she'd told Pansy that she wanted him, something about the fact that he would say something like that in a weaponized manner - in a way that was _meant_ to hurt - made her angry.

And he just stood there, staring down at her in a way that was equal parts anger as it was curiosity.

There was a small part of her that had thought that in spite of Pansy's warning, Hermione could be the first one to break his "one and done" rule. Yet here he was, looking at her as though she were a possible hook-up.

Having a crush was normal. Sleeping with people for the Hell of it and never entering a relationship with them was normal. Draco, a man, seeing her, a woman in that light was normal. It was all _normal_.

Something that Hermione had never been.

"I will hex you," Hermione breathed, "if you talk to me like that again. Get your hand off of me."

He retracted his hand as though she'd burned him.

She gave him a withering, burning once-over. Then, she snapped at him as she pushed the portrait open.

"Now, walk me to the Dining Hall. Please."

O

The walk was deathly silent. As silent as the graveyard in Godric's Hollow.

Hermione's body thrummed with her irritation, but she didn't know what to do with it. She couldn't remember feeling this sort of anger before. It felt like ropes of fire that were spreading out from one central set of flames at her core that told her that she was livid.

She chanced one glance up at him.

He looked just as angry.

The issue wasn't the anger, though. The issue was that you had to care about a situation or a person before you could get angry at them. Hermione cared about Draco. She had cared about him for months. That was why she was angry.

Why was he?

When they got to the Dining Hall, it was still mostly empty, save for the professors table. Hermione set her anger aside for a moment to return a friendly wave to Headmistress McGonagall. Then, without so much as a further word to Draco, she limped off to the Gryffindor table.

When she sat down, he was just turning to go to the Slytherin table.

Hermione didn't know what was going to become of them, or of this entire situation, but she was fairly certain that she and Malfoy were never going to be a thing.

Five minutes after dinner began, the nightly post dropped in. This wasn't usual. Nightly post only came when there were important missives or packages to be delivered. Ten or so owls fluttered in.

Hermione looked up from her pasta, glancing across the Dining Hall in time to see a familiar owl head straight for the Slytherin table.

It was Errol. He held something round, flat, and red in his claws. Something that he dropped right in front of Draco, who was deep in conversation with Pansy. Both students stopped talking the moment the object came to life and leapt into the air before them.

Wait.

Red?

She froze with a fork full of noodles and her mouth hanging open. Her blood cooled.

A Howler.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

Beside her, Ellie said, "What?"

The entire student body soon found out in what was perhaps the most embarrassing experience of Hermione's life.

" _Are you fucking kidding me, Malfoy? Are you fucking kidding me?! You fucked my girlfriend? Your ferrety, pointy-face, white-haired arse fucked my girlfriend?! What, you gone mental, then? You gone mental like your slimy father? The last thing Hermione would want to do is fuck your sorry arse!"_

Ron's voice.

" _And then you have the nerve to ignore her like she's the plague! After everything she's been through? What was the point of hauling her out of the well if you were just going to freeze her out later, yeah? What the fuck is wrong with you? You barmy bastard! I should Floo in there and hex you to China! No. No! I should go straight to your parole Auror and have him revoke every fucking privilege Harry got you! You fucking -"_

Then, Harry's voice interjected.

"Ron. Ron, _Ron_! Shut up, will you?!"

"What? It's my right to call him out, innit?!" Ron's voice snarled. "That's _my_ girlfriend!"

There was silence and then Harry said, "I didn't see that she wrote for me not to show this to you. No - yeah, no. Yeah. She didn't want . . . Anyone but me . . . To know."

Hermione could tell he was grimacing.

Everyone's - _everyone's_ \- eyes were on Draco during the entire tirade, who looked paler than usual. His eyes appeared somewhat crazed as they watched the Howler folding and unfolding in the pantomime of a human mouth as the voices continued.

"Well, that's . . . Right, then."

"Yeah," Harry said. "And since she's not exactly . . . Your girlfriend anymore, you should . . . Probably just -"

"Right."

The Howler ripped itself into shreds.

Silence.

Hermione wanted to die. She wanted to absolutely die. She'd never felt this amount of mortification in her entire life.

The panic levels rose to the point where they shot out of the roof of her head. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe and the moment her eyes locked with Draco's, she didn't think she'd ever breathe again.

The look he gave her was darker than Voldemort's shadows.

Pansy's jaw hung open, as did most of the students' in the room. No one seemed to know who to look at: Hermione or Draco.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She slowly, gingerly set her fork down, feeling foolish for still holding it. She was _not_ hungry any longer. She chewed on her lower lip, anxious as she looked at the Slytherin table again.

Draco was walking out of the room.

Hermione and Pansy looked at one another. Pansy gave her a worried look and then she got up. As the room erupted in hushed whispers, most of the students still looking at Hermione, Pansy went down and then around to Hermione's side of the table. She brushed her fingers along the back of Neville's neck as she passed.

"What are you looking at?!" Pansy snapped at several of the younger Gryffindor students, causing them to jolt. They looked away.

"Pansy," Hermione said with a sigh, "It's -"

"Want to go to Madam Puddifoot's tonight?" Pansy interjected. Hermione turned around to face her fully. "We can talk."

It took a bit of convincing, but eventually, Hermione agreed. It wasn't that far, it was downhill, the evening temperature was nice in spite of the rain, and the exercise would be good for her. And since everyone and their _mother_ now thought Draco and Hermione had slept together thanks to Ron's misunderstanding of her letter to Harry, Hermione would really much rather eat a meal away from them all.

"Don't worry," Pansy said, clutching Hermione's arm tightly. "We'll get this figured out."

Hermione hoped so.

O

"So, he fucked Romilda Vane, did he?"

Pansy dropped a lump of sugar into her tea. She stirred it while casting a few disdainful looks around the establishment. Both of them were still a bit damp after several drying charms, but had accepted it.

Outside, the rain continued to pelt the Earth.

The Three Broomsticks was mostly empty tonight, which didn't exactly make sense for a Friday night. In any case, Hermione was glad for it. She'd barely managed to keep her anxiety in check. When they discovered that Madam Puddifoot's was reservation-only on the weekends, Hermione had nearly lost her senses. The slightest thing could set her off at this point.

"I didn't do anything wrong, first of all," Hermione said, as though Pansy hadn't spoken. "I sent a letter to Harry telling him about my feelings and struggles. I made the mistake of asking him not to show Ronald at the _end_ of the letter, when I should have asked at the _beginning._ "

"Yeah," Pansy said, nodding once before she sipped her tea. "I'd agree with that."

"And yes, he did sleep with Romilda Vane," Hermione said, gripping both sides of her Butterbeer tightly. "He slept with her a week ago."

Pansy gave her a look that Hermione couldn't decipher. "You mean . . . After we talked about -"

"Yes," Hermione said, feeling and sounding bitter. "The day we talked about that - perhaps even _during_ our talk - he was with her."

Pansy sipped her tea, set it down, and then frowned. Hermione peered at her. The gears were turning again.

And then it clicked.

Hermione nearly threw her drink. Pansy gasped.

"That was why he asked me to take over for him that night!" Pansy cried.

"He was with _her_ the whole time!" Hermione said. " _Oooh_ , he makes me so angry."

"That absolute prat," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "At least you know he won't sleep with her again."

"Mhm," Hermione agreed. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less."

Pansy pressed her lips into a sympathetic line and looked over the top of Hermione's head as the bell over the door rang. Even seated, Pansy was taller than her, but it didn't bother Hermione as much anymore. She was slouching with despair anyway.

"At least we know he's consistent," Pansy muttered. She traced her finger around the rim of her teacup. "Well, there's only one way to handle this."

"How?" Hermione said on an exhalation of breath, propping her elbow on the tabletop and her chin in her hand.

Her back was to the door, but at least the temperature outside wasn't too bad. The rare times a customer walked in, she was blasted by a gust of Spring wind that swept her hair up, but in her button-up and skirt, she really felt fine. They hadn't even needed coats; only water repellant charms to keep most of the rain away.

"Revenge," Pansy said. "I know that's a Slytherin thing, but -"

"I'm in," Hermione said, her heart stuttering. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I told you he was this way - that he slept around - so first thing's first . . . You've got to let go of your anger," Pansy said, raising her eyebrows. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Draco didn't have a witch. He was single. Romilda was the one who was more at fault, because she'd asked Hermione if she and Draco were together _after_ she'd already slept with him. So, that meant that her Housemate had slept with him without really knowing if he was taken or not.

But Hermione was a girl and at the foundation of this entire situation, she had a crush on him. She'd _had_ a crush on him for months. He didn't belong to her, but she couldn't understand why, if he wanted to sleep with someone, he didn't try to sleep with Hermione first.

"You're more loyal to him than to me," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "How do I know you don't just want me to let go of it for his benefit?"

"Hermione, please think for a second," Pansy said with a sigh. "You're angry because you're hurt, and that's okay. When I spoke to you last week, it was under the assumption that you understood that my advice would only be beneficial if he fancied you in return. And even if he fancied you, or fancies you, he still has to consent to wanting to be with you."

Hermione eyed her. "So, I'm guessing that you both spoke."

Pansy inhaled slowly, wearing her discretion on her face like a Pureblood mask. "We . . . Spoke."

"Well, what did he say?!" Hermione cried.

"I can't just _tell_ you my best mate's secrets!" Pansy cried in return, giving Hermione a desperate look.

"Fine." Hermione sat back with her arms crossed, fuming. "What _can_ you tell me?"

"Well, first of all: I know he slept with Romilda. He slept with her one time and he has no intention of sleeping with her again. However, that's not exactly -"

"Validating."

Pansy sighed again. "Yes, it's not validating."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So, what is the point of revenge or vengeance, or whatever, if he's not interested in me?" Hermione said, frowning. "It seems silly and pointless."

"It _is_ silly," Pansy said, her lips twitching with veiled amusement. She sipped her tea. "But what would be even sillier is thinking he slept with Romilda for any reason other than the fact that things didn't work out with you."

Hermione's heart leapt and she regarded Pansy warily. "How do you mean? If he wanted to, he would have said something."

"Not . . ." Pansy's eyebrows rose and she gave a mirthless laugh. "Not necessarily. Draco's . . . Tricky. When he feels betrayed, he lashes out against himself. I promise you that he didn't sleep with Romilda to hurt _you_. He did it to numb himself against the hurt he's currently feeling."

She raised a finger to stop Hermione from speaking. " _Not_ that sleeping around hurts you. You can do whatever you'd like with your body. All of us can. We can sleep with 200 people, and still not have done anything wrong. The issue isn't using our bodies the way we're naturally able to; the issue is that he specifically uses it as a form of harming himself."

Hermione let the words sink in for a second. Numbing himself. Draco was numbing himself. And if this was common for him - sleeping with witches one at a time - then it was a form of self-harm that had been working for him for as long as it took

"But that's what I don't understand," Hermione said. "Are you telling me he thinks I betrayed him in some way?"

Pansy's face twisted into a grimace. It was clear she was trying to hold the words inside, but as the seconds dragged out, she seemed unable to keep it all in.

"Yes." She sped up. "But that's all that I know! He wouldn't elaborate. It may be simpler than you think, too. He's dramatic. He's the most dramatic wizard I know, Hermione. It's probably nothing. The problem is that he has a tendency to turn the smallest things inward on himself and blow them up into mountain-sized issues. This is _not_ new for him and frankly, I'm surprised he didn't sleep with anyone sooner."

The two girls exchanged glances.

"That we know of," Hermione said.

"Yes," Pansy said. "But let's just let that be his business. It's his body and neither of us have any claim to it, yeah?"

Hermione's stomach twisted with envy that felt all-encompassing, but she kept her mouth shut on the situation.

"How many witches has he slept with more than one time?" she asked.

Pansy said, "Only me. That's what he's told me, anyway. But Salazar, he made it through all of Slytherin and half of Ravenclaw in Sixth Year alone. The more stressed out he is, the more he sleeps around. This year, he isn't under anywhere near the amount of pressure that he was back then, but whatever it is that he feels so betrayed about is obviously affecting him enough to sleep with your roommate. I think it's safe to say that as internally-focused as the selfish prat is -" She blew air out between her lips in another sigh. "- him being angry with you and him sleeping with Romilda could have nothing to do with one another."

Hermione didn't know how she felt about that.

"But!" Pansy said, grinning. "But, but, but . . . That is exactly why I suggest revenge. I think this entire situation is a misunderstanding. Feelings are hurt, but no hard and fast _laws_ have been broken. Whatever he's upset about, I'm sure will be worked out when you're underneath him. Or against a wall. Or inside a closet."

Hermione's cheeks flared red. "Pansy, stoppit."

"What?" Pansy rolled her eyes and spoke with sarcasm. "You scared of fucking?"

"No!" Hermione said.

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn't exactly true.

She'd lost her virginity to Viktor and while it was lovely, she was too young to really understand the emotional effects of sex. Sleeping with Ron was just an absolute disaster, and it had taken place for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to feel . . .

Good.

"I think that's the issue," Pansy said. "We need to stop thinking you're going to sleep with him right out of the gate. I think you need to start small."

"Small?"

"Draco . . ." Pansy stopped, looking thoughtful. "Draco likes the process. Do you understand what I mean? He doesn't just pick a girl, tap her on the shoulder, and say ;let's go.' He knows how to woo - to _court_ a woman. He likes the little things that happen that lead up to the deed."

"The little things?"

"Hermione," Pansy said, exasperated, "You can't be this dense. Foreplay. He likes the foreplay. He enjoys it, he sleeps with the witch, and then he moves on."

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. Foreplay was not something she'd ever done with Ron. The Muggles called it "messing around." Viktor was too young, so of course he'd had no idea what it was. It was Hermione's own feelings for him that had made the loss of her virginity bearable.

Pansy continued, "We're going about this the wrong way if you're wanting to rush it, Hermione. We need to get you in the door. Then, we let him come to you at the entryway. Yeah?"

"Do you think he even fancies me?"

"I do," Pansy said. " _However_ , I think you're a bit barmy if you think that Hermione Granger, saviour of the British wizarding world, could just _sleep_ with Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater on parole. I mean, really?"

Hermione could feel the color and heat draining from her face. She lowered her gaze. She hadn't thought of it that way.

"I guess you're -"

"Right? Correct? Spot on?" Pansy blinked pointedly. "Uh, _yeah_. So, stop for a second and think with that massive brain of yours, all right? He's probably facing a crisis of _spirit_ , the dramatic arsehole."

Hermione couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her lips. "He probably is. He really is quite dramatic."

"He really is, though." Pansy laughed, too.

Madam Rosmerta came by with the food they'd ordered, so they spent some time tucking in. After a few minutes, Pansy looked at Hermione. She stared at her thoughtfully for a second and then her eyes lit up.

"Do you like Dean Thomas? He'll sleep with anyone, I swear. I bet if we -"

"Absolutely _not_! He's like my younger _brother_ , Pansy!"

"Okay, okay! Settle down!" Pansy rolled her eyes again and then said, "What if we found someone from another House for you?"

Hermione gave her a pained look. "I don't know if revenge is for me."

"Aw, come on!" Pansy pouted. "You can't give up that easily. We can try a different, less . . . _Traditional_ route."

The door opened behind Hermione, causing Pansy's gaze to slide over the top of her head again. The breeze rustled her curls and Pansy's long hair.

Hermione sighed for the umpteenth time. Honestly, she might as well give up on this entire venture. She was starting to feel a bit smarmy.

Pansy stood up, startling Hermione. She leaned over the table, causing a spike in Hermione's heart rate, and then placed her hands against her cheeks. Before Hermione could even blink, Pansy was kissing her.

 _Kissing_ her.

She wasn't wasting _any_ time. When Hermione gasped in her initial surprise, Pansy plunged her tongue deep into her mouth, practically forcing Hermione's own tongue to come out and play. She tasted like tea.

Hermione's mind was a complete minefield. All she could think about was the fact that she was snogging Pansy Parkinson in the middle of the Three Broomsticks with her eyes wide open. Everyone who was present was watching.

_What in Merlin's hut is she doing?!_

Pansy kissed her like she was trying to tell her something.

When Pansy pulled back, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. Still holding one of Hermione's cheeks, she used the thumb of her other hand to wipe the corner of Hermione's mouth.

"Come to have dinner, then?" she said loudly, looking past Hermione again.

The bell above the restaurant door jangled as the door swung shut behind the person Pansy had just spoken to. Hermione felt like she was going to have another panic attack.

Draco came to stand next to the table. He was mostly dry, but parts of his hair and clothes appeared damp. Hermione kept her wild-eyed, panicked stare focused on her Butterbeer. She couldn't tell if Draco was looking at her.

"Yes," he said, his voice somewhat dark. "And you two are . . . On some sort of date?"

"Oh, some sort of," Pansy said, tossing her hair back as she sat back down.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, you -"

"Yes," Hermione said, her thoughts stumbling to catch up with Pansy's strange genius. She hesitated for a moment before she looked up at Draco. "You are."

Draco stared at her, his eyebrows sliding up. He said nothing.

"I guess she's territorial," Pansy said, catching on much quicker than Hermione had. Her chin perched in her hand. "My sweet, little witch."

 _Nice touch_ , Hermione though, trying not to grin.

Draco looked back and forth between the two of them. " _Sweet_ , huh?"

And then Pansy took it a step further. She reached across the table and trailed her forefinger across the swell of Hermione's lower lip. When she looked at Hermione, there were stars in her eyes. Her face had changed so much that for a moment, Hermione actually thought Pansy wasn't acting.

"And she tastes that way, too," Pansy said, using the same throaty tone that she'd used when they were sitting on the couch in the corridor.

When Pansy took her hand back, Hermione forced herself past her embarrassment and fixed Draco with a bit of a glare.

"Did you need anything?"

Something shifted in his eyes, like the lanterns coming on at night.

"I'll see you for rounds," Draco said, and it sounded like his teeth were clenched. He adjusted the lapels of his blazer, allowing his gaze to sweep over Pansy one last time. "I think I'll go to the Hog's Head tonight instead."

He left.

"How did you do that with your face?" Hermione hissed between giggles.

"I don't know!" Pansy said, laughing hard enough for tears to fill her eyes. "I just thought of Neville!"

"Do you think it worked?" Hermione asked.

"I do indeed," Pansy said, reaching for her purse and pulling out the galleons for the drinks. "Don't worry; I'll pay for it. We have to go to Gladrags. In the instance that something _does_ happen between you two, we can't have you wearing cotton."

"How do you know what fabric my knickers are?!" Hermione whispered, offended.

Pansy set the coins down and gave her a look.

". . . All right, they're cotton," Hermione snapped. "But it's almost eight! What if they're closed?"

"On a Friday? For a Parkinson?" Pansy scoffed. "I think not. _You_ need new knickers, just in case. Let's go!"

Pansy got up, snatching her hand along the way to drag Hermione limping out into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**WARNING: Smut, edging**

* * *

**Small**

**Chapter Twelve - Sweet**

O

Hermione now had thirty pairs of cotton knickers, and three pairs of satin ones.

She'd never been one to care what her knickers looked like, even with Ron, but Pansy's insistence that it was "necessary to upgrade" was enough to spur Hermione into buying a few pairs. She hadn't spent any of the money she'd been awarded with her Order of Merlin, so it was no issue to purchase them. She bought brassieres to match; the kind without the padded cups so she could be as comfortable as possible.

And they really weren't uncomfortable. They covered her rear and were soft against her skin. She'd gotten three different colors: light blue, pink, and green. The green was Pansy's idea, but Hermione couldn't deny that it made sense. Slytherin's colors were green and silver, anyway.

That was really all she could ask for.

Now, waiting the final five minutes until 9:00PM, when Prefect rounds started, Hermione felt nervous.

It wasn't like anything was going to _happen_. She knew that they weren't exactly in that sort of place with one another. Pansy was the one who was certain Draco fancied Hermione, but he had never said anything that evidenced to that fact. When she really delved down deep, Hermione had no evidence at all as to his feelings, other than that he was acting like he detested her again.

The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she was going mental.

Yes, Draco had saved her from the well. Yes, he had assaulted and nearly killed Sebastien. And yes, he had essentially gone to Azkaban for her.

But both Harry and Ron would have done the same thing. Draco had been her _friend_. That didn't mean he _fancied_ her. By that logic, then Harry fancied her, too, and since he was very much in love with Ginny, Hermione highly doubted that he did.

Hermione thought of all of the Muggle movies that depicted situations like hers. A bookish girl having feelings for the "popular" guy. The way the other kids would tease the girl, while the hypocritical boy played both sides.

Was Hermione making a fool out of herself?

When she began to limp her way down the stairs, she almost wanted to cry out of mortification. She'd actually put on an entirely _new_ pair of knickers in a color that her _crush_ would like just in case he wanted to do something with her that night.

The audacity made Hermione want to crawl underneath her bed and keel over.

 _I need to calm down,_ Hermione thought as she limped across the sparsely-filled common room, greeting her Housemates along the way. _I do not need to be having a panic attack right now. It's just rounds. Pansy's overeager. It was just a kiss. Calm down. Calm down._

When she finally made it out into the corridor, she noticed that her thigh wound was aching and she sighed.

Perhaps she'd done enough exercising for the day, and she could cancel . . .

No. There was no need to do that. It was good to push herself every once in a while. If she couldn't even make it through rounds with him, then how could she call herself a Gryffindor?

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Everything was fine. Everything was fine.

Stepping out into the corridor, Hermione instantly felt the chill of the night air inside the castle. It wasn't unpleasant, but it definitely made her feel hyper-aware of her steps and breath.

Draco was leaning against the wall with his foot kicked back against it. He wore a pair of trousers and a loose-fitting tee shirt with a V-shaped neckline, both in black. He'd slipped the forefingers of his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

There, clear as day on his forearm, was his Dark Mark. It looked the same as the first day they'd worked on the library: like a tattoo he'd had for years.

Hermione stopped, blinking in surprise.

He looked like a Muggle. An edgy Muggle that her father would have killedher for bringing home.

"What?" he said, his eyes flashing.

"Nothing," she said. "I just . . . Didn't think you owned a tee shirt. They're quite Muggle."

"Yeah, well, I'm _quite_ different than you remember," he said, giving her a sneer. He swept his fingers through his hair. "And I didn't feel like wearing a full suit just to walk around the castle. Is that an issue, Miss Fashion Auror?"

He offered her his arm. There was no sleeve for her to grasp.

Hermione averted her eyes and, with a tentative hand, reached for him. She curled her fingers around the crease of his arm, feeling the heat of his flesh beneath her touch.

She turned to look at him, finding that his shoulder looked much more toned in a shirt like this. He didn't look down at her, and it felt like his face was miles above her.

It was hard not to remember how the day he'd rescued her, he'd put his arm around her and held her. That he'd helped her walk without acting like her skin was smeared with ichor.

He was as toned as he was tall.

They set off.

The rounds went fairly quickly with no stragglers out past curfew. Hermione's leg hurt quite a bit, and the waves of energy that Draco was giving off told her that she'd better not try to talk to him. It became very clear that perhaps she was a smarmy fool, and she should have just changed into trousers and kept her cotton knickers on.

Around 10:00PM, the end of their rounds took them past the library.

"Did you ever manage to complete the upholstery in the library? And then fix the tables and chairs?" Hermione asked, the errant though nagging at her.

"Oh . . ." He said, his voice somewhat hoarse from disuse. They hadn't said a word to each other since leaving the Fifth floor. "No. I finished the shelves, books, and Madam Pince's desk, though."

They looked at one another. Hermione knew he probably didn't want to be alone with her longer than he had to be, but her leg was killing her. It hurt, and she just wanted to sit down for a few moments. Especially since the Fifth Floor felt like it was a long ways away from the Third.

"Let's just finish it," he said with a sigh, gesturing to the dark entrance.

"Oh, excellent," Hermione said, letting go of his arm and limping forward. She briefly wondered if he was looking at her skirt from behind and her cheeks warmed. Trying to be discreet, she reached around and tugged the hem of it down a bit.

Self-conscious was not a look that Hermione wore well.

When they were in the library, Hermione walked through the stacks, to where the room had an opening for all of the study tables and chairs. She and Draco worked together to fix most of them. They moved further in, cleaning up the little alcoves between bookshelves that were meant for studying in seclusion or reading.

After a while, Hermione realized her pain was increasing.

"I'm going to sit down," she announced, taking a seat in the cushioned armchair inside one reading alcove. Her aching muscle thanked her for it.

Draco merely looked at her and then disappeared toward the back of the stacks. Hermione knew there were more tables back there, as well as some lounge chairs for reading.

Once she was alone, she surprised herself by letting out the anxious breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. This was the most tense, nerve wracking experience she'd had in a long time. As far as Draco knew, she and Pansy had snogged and gone out on a -

"I know you two were putting me on," came Draco's voice as he walked into the area again.

He came to stand a ways away from her. Placing his hand on one of the shelves in a wooden stack, he leaned against it. The press of weight on his wrist caused tendons to stand out on his forearm that Hermione hadn't even known could be attractive on a man. She could see them weaving their way down his arm, raising parts of his faded black Mark.

"You think I'm dense?" he continued, his other hand going to his hip.

Hermione cringed and then schooled her expression. She wasn't prepared for him to see right through her and Pansy's ruse. She drew her shoulders back, trying not to feel like he was looming over her like a denizen of tattooed darkness.

"What Pansy and I do is none of your business, remember?"

"I'm _making_ it my business, Granger. She's my best mate, and you're . . ." Draco trailed off, his eyes widening a fraction when Hermione's narrowed. "You're not going to be able to trick me into thinking you guys are together, when I know she's barmy for Longbottom."

What had he been about to say?

Hermione frowned up at him. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"Really?" He gave her an incredulous look and then lifted his hand from his hip. He pointed at the wall in the direction the Dining Hall lay. "Your wizard sent me a _Howler_ in the middle of _dinner_! And not just _any_ wizard. No. The fucking _Weaselbee_!"

"I'm sorry, all right?" Hermione cried, her anger and anxiety mingling and presenting itself in the form of a raised voice. "I apologize for the Howler. I wrote to Harry, and he showed the letter to Ron, who reacted - who reacted the way he always does. And he's not my wizard! I've told you that."

"Both of your friends are fucking tossers," he said, his eyes blazing like molten silver.

"Both? That Howler was from Ron. Harry didn't do anything!"

"Yeah." He sneered and glared off into the stacks, still leaned over. There was an obvious tightness to his jaw.

Why would he think Harry was a problem? Unless he was still harboring ill will towards him. Which didn't make much sense, since Harry had gotten him out of Azkaban. Slytherins were loyal to anyone who did them a favor.

Hermione studied him carefully for a moment, arms crossed.

"Did Harry say something to you at Azkaban?"

He stood up straight, tousling his hair to the side. "I'm not a gossip, Granger. For Salazar's sake, I'm not Pansy. I'm not your bloody friend."

"Of course you're not." Hermione felt her anger outweighing her nerves, outweighing even the painful sting of his words. "If you were, then I wouldn't have had to find out about Romilda Vane from her directly! You would have told me yourself!"

He looked at her, then, and something about the way he was hovering between a scowl and a sneer set her off.

"What, is she your witch now?" she cried, wishing her leg wasn't hurting so that she could jump to her feet. With her sitting and him standing, the height difference was beyond the point of unfair. The alcove was small, with only one lantern on the wall, so it felt like he was filling the entire area with his body. "Your first girlfriend? That's got to be _so_ exciting for you."

She knew she was overreacting and letting her nastiness get the better of her, but she couldn't seem to stop the envy from bursting forth.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Granger," he snarled, the vehemence in his tone causing Hermione's shoulders to jump. He looked enraged. His fists balled at his sides. "Have you been talking to Pansy about me?"

Hermione pressed her lips together firmly, trying to think of what to say. She didn't want him to get angry at Pansy. She changed tactics.

"Why are you acting so cruel?" she said. "What did I do to make you so angry?"

"You haven't left me alone since you signed up to work on the damn library with me!" he yelled, pushing his hair back again. The cloudy strands kept shifting forward. "It's been nonstop with you. It's Granger's world - the Golden World, and we're all just living in it. Have you ever even stopped to ask yourself if I _wanted_ to be your fucking friend?!"

Hermione's eyes stung.

Now _that_ hurt.

"And as for Vane, I'm _single!"_ he shouted. "I can do whatever the fuck I want! I don't belong to you, and you don't belong to me. Stop acting like we had something."

Hermione's breath hitched. She wasn't even looking at him anymore. She was staring at the darkness of the stacks behind his head, focusing as hard as she could on not crying. She felt like a Second Year with a foolish crush on a mean Fifth Year.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it.

He walked away a few steps, running both of his hands through his hair. He kept his back to her. The silence was thick and heavy.

Just like the tear that rolled down her cheek.

She hurried to wipe it away, but her throat ached and her chin trembled. What the Hell had she been thinking? She was a complete nutter. Acting like he was her boyfriend, and he'd cheated on her. They weren't together. They'd never _been_ together.

"Fuck's sake, it's been a _month,"_ he said. "We gave each other chocolate. That's hardly a promise of loyalty. I don't _owe_ you anything."

"I know," she whispered. _I'm so immature when it comes to wizards. I don't know what I was thinking._

He leaned against the shelf again, like he was trying to catch his breath after a run. There was no attempt made to turn around and look at her.

"Are you sure you know? Because you're acting like you didn't. You're acting like I belonged to you." He sounded irritated and distant. Like this was a last-ditch effort, when he'd never even made an effort in the first place. "Any particular reason? Something you want to say to me?"

She felt like there was no point in hiding anything anymore.

"Pansy and I aren't together," she said.

"No shit, Salazar."

Hermione barely flinched. She just stared at the carpet in a forlorn manner. She uncrossed her arms and placed them in her lap, where she absentmindedly massaged her scar. She felt the weight of her depression upon her like an anvil.

"I just wanted to make you jealous," Hermione said. "I wanted you to be jealous because _I_ was. Romilda is my roommate and she is - _was_ my friend, and I thought you picked her intentionally to hurt me. I know you're cross with me and even though I don't know what I did, or if it's because I'm Muggle-born, I just want you to know . . ."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes against the tears that swam in her eyes. "I fancy you. I've liked you since before Christmas, and I'm . . . I'm not really sure what to do about it."

Another tear rolled down unchecked.

"It was chocolate a month ago for you," she said sadly, "but it was holly in December for me."

Draco turned to look at her over his shoulder. The expression on his face was not one that she could read.

Her vision was blurred.

The silence was thick, almost choking.

Hermione had never been one to keep things close to the breast for too long. Even though she felt foolish, sitting there dressed like Pansy and wearing knickers that Pansy chose for her, wiping tears from her cheeks, she knew she had to tell him. He may not reciprocate her feelings, but she knew she had to tell him. For her own sake.

A few moments passed.

" _Circe_ , Granger!" he eventually said, sounding frustrated. "You are _the_ most bizarre witch I've ever _met_!"

Hermione just sat there, letting the tears fall.

Draco breathed a mirthless laugh. "Instead of just _telling_ me, you went out of your way to create elaborate reasons to get me to _touch_ you!"

Hermione felt her stomach twisting with shame. So, he'd noticed it all. She was mortified.

"I don't know what it is that you've decided you're attracted to - whether it's who I am, or what I look like - but you decided that you wanted something. And since no one would dare to tell the saviour of wizarding Britain _no_ , you thought you had a claim to me."

As he spoke, he stalked back toward the chair. Hermione could see his feet drawing near. He stopped right in front of her. The smell of his cologne was a punishment; a reminder of what she'd never have. She was too ashamed to look at him.

Not after her confession. Not while she was weeping.

"And that's why you kept asking me to lift you up when you and I both know damn well you didn't forget your wand." His voice was quiet. Accusatory, but with a faint tinge of amusement to it. "A witch doesn't forget her wand, now does she?"

Hermione's head hung lower. Her fingers clenched around the hem of her skirt. The skirt she felt she looked foolish in. She just wanted this conversation to be over so she could go cry herself to sleep.

A couple of seconds went by, and then Hermione felt his fingers curling around her chin. He tilted it up.

She willed herself to be still as she looked into his eyes with tears still clinging to her lashes. One fell, and she felt it drip all the way to where he gripped her.

He raised his eyebrows and repeated himself.

"Does she?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. Instead, she swallowed and shook her head. He didn't let go; he simply searched her eyes for something. His gaze was scrutinizing. Intense.

She couldn't stop the tremble in her legs.

"If you wanted to hook up," he whispered, his thumb caressing her chin, "you should have just said so."

Hermione's brows twitched together as she let his words wash over her. She tightened her hold on her skirt hem.

Draco's other hand came up to wipe her tears with his index and middle finger. He held her gaze as he slipped the tips of those same fingers into his mouth.

"Hm," he said, sounding disappointed. "I thought Pansy said you were sweet?"

Hermione could not breathe.

_What . . . Is he doing?_

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her. She felt them, soft as velvet against her own, pushing and pulling in a way that awarded her no other choice but to surrender. His hands stroked down the sides of her neck, tickling her into opening her mouth wider. He towered over her, his tall presence enveloping her diminutive one in the chair as his tongue traced sinful things into her mouth.

Draco was just as headstrong as Pansy, and his tongue moved into her mouth to urge hers into a dance with his own. She'd never been kissed like this before, and she was one hundred percent certain she would never be kissed like this again. She was so completely encompassed by the intoxication of it that she hadn't even removed her hands from where they were holding the hem of her skirt.

Her heart nearly pounded its way out of her chest. She wasn't sure what this kiss meant entirely, but it was an answer of some sort. Whether he fancied her or was just attracted to her, it was _something_. She still didn't know why he'd been so angry with her, nor what Harry had said to him to make him so angry, but did it really matter when he was kissing her this way?

They could deal with the rest later.

His fingers scraped along the base of her scalp as they sunk into the depths of her curls. It was as though he'd wanted to touch them for years, and he told her so with the way he turned his head to deepen the kiss.

Hermione could hardly keep up. She was so much more inexperienced than him, and he seemed to know exactly what to do to pick up the slack when she didn't.

The coil of desire in her stomach twisted even tighter, until it almost hurt. Holding onto her skirt had become a lifeline. A buoy in the sea of choppy waves he was pulling her through.

He seemed to find some sort of attraction to the way she gasped for air between meetings of their lips, because he increased the pressure of his tongue. It overwhelmed her, and her head fell back until he was practically leaning over the entire chair just to snog her. Every time his fingernails brushed her scalp, a shiver went through her body and added intensity to the coil in her stomach.

Draco had told her he was not a block of ice. He wasn't kidding.

He turned his head again, and the kiss eclipsed Hermione's sense.

Something shifted in the air. It seemed like the lantern dimmed, but Hermione's eyes were closed so she couldn't be sure. The temperature surrounding them increased exponentially. Sweat began to bead in the dip of her spine, rolling down to greet the swell of her rear underneath her shirt and skirt.

Pulling his hands away from her hair, he started moving them downward. Hermione felt his fingers brushing her upper arms through her sleeves as he wrapped his hands around the arms of her chair. The kiss broke, leaving her panting and his cheeks flushed. She saw his gaze washing over her entire face, bouncing all over every inch of it.

Hermione wanted to shrink back into the chair, but something in his eyes kept her right where she was.

Merlin, he was so tall.

"Is that what you were trying to do with Pansy? Trying to make me jealous?" His lips curved up into a slow, dangerous smirk. "You're cute, Granger. But Pansy's not the way to do it."

And then he sank to his knees before her. They were now at eye level, and his hands were moving from the chair to the backs of her forearms. Hermione tried to suck in a breath. She wanted to look down, but she felt like she couldn't function if she lowered her gaze. Her legs quivered.

She'd never been this nervous in her life. It was fairly clear that he was trying to initiate something - a hook up - and he was fine with it happening right here in the library.

Oh, Gods. Oh, dear Gods above.

His fingers were on her bare legs, sliding gently along the outsides of her thighs.

A flame ignited in her heart. She wasn't a virgin. She had done this before, and she didn't need to act so shy. He was intimidating, yes, but she was still a Gryffindor.

"Then, what _is_ the way to do it?" she asked.

"Kissing her definitely wasn't it." His eyebrows raised again and his smirk seemed to get wickeder. "But what I want to do to you certainly would have done the trick."

"Huh?" Her mind tripped. "What are you - _ah!"_

His hands shot to her hips and dragged them forward to the chair's edge, eliciting a yelp from her mouth. Hermione watched in wide-eyed surprise as he held eye contact and pressed a scorching hot kiss to the inside of her right knee. She felt faint. Her stomach coiled tighter.

"Did you wish it were you?" he said, his voice a soft cajole. He pressed two more kisses to her skin, trailing up toward her scar with the tip of his tongue. The feeling jolted her straight to her core."Did you wish it were you writhing underneath me?"

Hermione's internal self was screaming. She could hardly believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. How could he say that so _calmly_? Ron would never - _could_ never say anything like that.

She didn't know how to answer him. Was she _supposed_ to respond? She kept trying to remember what Pansy had told her about what Draco liked, but her mind was a blank slate.

Draco kissed her thigh again. His hands gripped her knees and spread her legs apart. She began to tremble more. She held the chair arms so tightly that her knuckles were white.

And then he kissed her scar, his tongue darting out to taste it. Every part of her body came to life like a flower unfurling in the sunlight. Her eyelids fluttered, her lashes still clumped together with moisture from her weeping. Her head fell back.

She couldn't ever remember feeling this way. It was like he'd set a match to the end of every nerve in her entire body. His hands stroked her thighs again, stoking a flame inside of her body that made her have to stifle a sigh.

"Did you wish it was your cunt my tongue was tasting?" he whispered, and then she felt him spreading her legs wider. He kissed her inner thigh, right at the top.

Her hands flew to her face.

He paused.

"Granger, has anyone ever done this to you before?" he asked.

Hermione felt like she'd forgotten how to speak. She shook her head, peeking through her fingers at him. The heat of her blush emanated through her cheeks, the rest of her body existing in a state of shock.

She hadn't actually thought this would happen. She hadn't thought he even _wanted_ her.

"Can I be the first?"

Consent. He was asking for consent. Which is exactly what Pansy said he would do. Hermione's mind stumbled over itself, trying to catch up and take note of -

"Don't think about logistics," he whispered, pressing another kiss to her thigh. "You already know what you want to say."

"Yes," she breathed, still hiding behind her hands. "Yes, you can - go ahead and -"

Without warning, he gripped both of her knees, pushing them wide enough to slot his head between her legs. He gave the apex of her thighs an open-mouthed kiss that felt like a heated brand through her new knickers. He groaned in a way that Hermione felt reverberating through her body, and his tongue wet the fabric.

Hermione was already seeing stars. Her fingernails pressed light half moons into her forehead. For some reason, she felt too embarrassed to moan when she'd never had trouble moaning before. Perhaps it was because it was Draco Malfoy, the wizard who had bullied her. She wasn't sure.

What she _did_ know was that she'd never felt this good in her entire life.

As his mouth played with her through her knickers, his fingers continued to stroke her thighs. He put more pressure on her scarred leg, the massage of his kneading fingers providing her pain relief that she didn't realize how much she appreciated until he did it. The little sounds he made were . . . Comforting. Like he was trying to soothe a crying child, or console her.

 _It's all right,_ they said. _You're all right._

At first, she thought they seemed strange, but the more aroused she became, the more they reinforced the curling coil in her belly. It was getting harder and harder not to moan. Her breaths were coming in short gasps.

Draco's mouth found the bundle of nerves at the top of her womanhood that Ron had never once treated with care. The combination of the sounds, the thoughtfulness of the massage, and the feeling of him suckling her through her knickers nearly brought her over the edge.

Her hips jerked. She held her breath.

He moved back suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and wanting. She peeked through her fingers again. He smirked.

"Did you almost come?"

She made no movement. "Is that . . . Bad?"

"It's been thirty seconds." He breathed a laugh. "I haven't even moved your knickers."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, fingers trembling. She wasn't sure how he'd react. If this had happened with Ron . . . "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's all right. Try . . . Try to hold it," he said, his tone gentle. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I'll t-try," she stammered. "Do I . . . Tell you when?"

"Mhm," he said, and it sounded eerily similar to the purr of a panther.

Hermione nodded and re-covered her face. She wished the lantern would just go out entirely.

Draco kissed the inside of her knee again, and she tried to relax. She wasn't going to be able to hold _anything_ if she was tense. He trailed his way back up, paying extra attention to her scar until she was biting her tongue to keep from crying out. There was a desperation for more clawing at the center of her chest.

Keeping one arm curved up underneath and over the top of her left leg, he used his other hand to pull her knickers aside. The cool air mingled with the moist heat of his breath as he whispered a low, gravelly _fuck_ and leaned forward.

The moment he tasted the bare flesh of her core, Hermione felt her entire body thrumming with pleasure. Her hands flew to the arms of the chair on instinct, fingers gripping for stability in the storm he was awakening within her body.

It just felt so _good_.

He stopped for a second, peering up at her. From this angle, all she saw was the burning sincerity in his eyes, the flame of the lantern above their heads reflecting in his silver irises. It looked like she was staring right at the moon.

"Hm, I guess Pansy _was_ right," he murmured, before he pushed his tongue out to give her a long, slow lick. It felt so good that her body twitched. "You _do_ taste sweet."

Hermione flushed. "Honestly, Draco."

"All right to keep going?" he said.

She knew she probably looked strange, with her brows knitted together and a bit of a grimace on her face, but she couldn't seem to control it. Nodding her head, she gripped the chair tighter and prepared.

He leaned forward and the span of one breath passed. On Hermione's second inhalation, he devoured her.

Hermione bit her lip to keep the scream inside. Her head slammed against the back of the armchair as his tongue drew lascivious patterns all over an area that hadn't ever really brought her anything other than discomfort. She choked on the inhaled breath, the exhalation coming out in stuttered, uncontrolled patterns of air.

Her entire mind was white. There was no color. There was nothing other than pure electricity, rocketing throughout her brain and down to her core.

Draco pulled her pearl into his mouth and caressed it with that sinful, whispering tongue. She felt herself hurtling straight towards the edge of a cliff. Her legs shook almost violently, attempting to close around his head on reflex, but he wouldn't allow it. The desire to escape while also enjoying being held down warred inside of her.

Draco sucked harder, his left hand holding her right leg open against the chair and his right hand squeezing the flesh of her left thigh. She felt trapped. Pinned. Like he wouldn't let her go even if she wanted him to.

She sort-of liked it.

Hermione's body took over, pushing her hips forward to meet the cadence of his laving tongue. She whined, the sound escaping her as she tried to hold back her undoing. Her toes curled inside her trainers and she tried to find the inner courage to tell him how close she was. She'd never said anything like that before, but she supposed she hadn't exactly felt safe and comfortable enough to.

"D-Draco," she said, her voice faltering when he stopped suckling to sweep his tongue through her. "Draco, I-I . . ." Another whine, one that she tried to yank back inside of her throat.

"Try to hold it, Granger," he said, his voice a throaty whisper. She felt her womb clench. The desperation in her chest expanded and she almost felt like crying. "Come on."

His fingers explored her, teasing her entrance. He groaned a curse when his forefinger slipped inside the tiniest of amounts. Hermione froze for a moment, sure that there would be the same pain or resistance that she'd felt with Ron. But when there was none, when he slipped through as easily as though she were made of mist, the sheer relief of it all caused her to moan.

He pushed his finger in deeper, twisting and curling with gentle strokes. His hair had fallen forward, into his eyes, making him look so attractive that she bit her lip again.

She wanted him inside of her.

"That's it," he murmured, his gaze flicking up once to meet hers before returning to watch what he was doing. "Just let yourself cool down. It's all right."

She didn't know why, but his attempts to ease her were actually working.

Slow and steady, the pounding in her core receded. It pulled back until it was naught but a gentle pulse that matched a calm heartbeat.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "I'm . . . Okay. I'm okay."

"Perfect," he purred, licking and nipping her inner thigh. The sensitivity of her skin caused her breathing to catch again.

"I don't know if . . ." She swallowed. "If I can hold it again."

"But you did so well," he cajoled, and his voice sounded distant. Like he didn't even realize where he was. He nuzzled her inner thigh again, moaning as he kissed her. "You're doing so, so well. You're so perfect."

Another chill rippled its way through her as he pulled his finger out of her body to add a second one. He stretched her.

Hermione nearly whined again. It didn't hurt. It didn't _hurt_. She couldn't measure her relief.

"Is this okay?" he asked, still in that same gentle tone. The caring one that she felt matched him a lot better than she originally thought. "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head. Her eyes stung. Ron had never once asked her that question.

"One more time for me, okay?" he said, looking at her again. "I like it when you hold back for me."

She nodded, determined. She could do it one more time. She _wanted_ to do it one more time.

For him.

Hermione lost herself to the sensations when he tasted her again, allowing herself to be swept away. Her hips undulated to meet the rise and fall of his tongue. He was gentle, so gentle that it was sending more lightning bolts through her body with every second that passed. His fingers moved in and out, in and out, the tips caressing her inner walls.

She could feel it building again, right in the dead center of her pelvis. The sheer force it took to hold back her orgasm filled her body to the brim with need. It was impossible to stop. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her knuckle momentarily to keep from begging.

She didn't want him to stop again. She wanted to come.

Trying to move her hips as much as her position allowed her to, Hermione rode his tongue in the hopes that she could bring herself as close to the edge as possible before he brought her back. Her head was thrown back so far that when she cracked her eyes open, she could see the ceiling shrouded in shadows and darkness.

Suddenly, he sat up on his knees, bringing himself up to make eye contact with her.

Hermione looked down and saw the corded muscles on his arm becoming more prominent as he began to slam his fingers in and out of her body in earnest. It came as such a surprise that she cried out and her back bowed away from the chair. She cried out again and again as every thrust of his fingers hit a spot inside of her that had her legs convulsing and her entire body throbbing.

"How many times did your little weasel make you come?" Draco said, and the wolfish grin on his face made Hermione feel intimidated.

"Once," she said, unable to speak or think clearly. The word was stretched out on the back of a moan.

"Were you thinking of me when you did?" His eyes searched hers. It felt dangerous not to answer.

"Yes," she squeaked out.

He smirked. "Wanted to fuck me that badly, did you?"

She didn't know how to answer that question.

And it didn't matter because he leaned back down and suckled at her pearl again, all while his fingers continued to slam into her body. It felt so good. _Too_ good. She couldn't help the words that tumbled out of her mouth after that.

"I'm so close. I'm so close. Please. Please, please -"

Draco cut her off by pulling away again, slowing the movements of his hands. Hermione let out a frustrated cry. When she looked at him, he was still smirking.

"We won't be fucking tonight, Granger," he said, as though they were discussing the weather. "I find I rather like the chase."

That's what Pansy had insinuated, and Hermione wasn't exactly opposed to it. She didn't know exactly what she felt yet. She knew she wanted to sleep with him, especially if it could feel this good, but if he truly was a "one and done" wizard, then she wasn't sure if she wanted to go past this sort of sexual activity with him. She wasn't sure if _he_ wanted to go there with _her_ , either.

"Now," he said, his fingers continuing their slow drag in and out, "I want you to come for me. And when you do, it's going to feel overwhelming. Just fall forward, and I'll catch you."

Hermione felt a small bell of alarm going off in her mind. "What do you mean?"

"Just trust me, okay?" he said and then he lifted himself up again. "And kiss me."

A shy warmth entered Hermione's heart. She leaned forward, closing her eyes. Their lips met. She pulled back.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

"Not like that," he said, his voice a low growl in the depths of his throat. "Like this."

He surged forward and snogged the living daylights out of her. The sheer force and fervor behind the sweeping of his tongue through her mouth drew her to lift her hands from the chair and finally, _finally_ put them through his hair. Her nails combed across his scalp, through the silken strands, and she felt him shudder.

A moan left him, pouring into her mouth to meet the sounds of her own moaning, and then his fingers were slamming into her again. She tangled her fingers tightly in his hair, anchoring him into the kiss as the feelings wracked her body with a growing heat. She felt it tingling inside of her, spreading from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head.

Both of his hands were on her core now, one thrusting and the other stroking circles on top of her pearl. Stars bloomed behind her closed eyelids as she lost track of the tempo of his tongue and went rigid.

"Yes, that's it," he hissed into her mouth between kisses. "I want you to come. I want you to _fucking_ come. Come on, Granger."

Hermione couldn't keep kissing him. She wrenched her mouth away from his lips. The contrast of his furious pace inside her body and the gentle, slow circles on the outside were throwing her deep into a pool of molten rock.

"Draco, I'm . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, staring down at her rumpled skirt and his lewd actions as though in pained shock. She curled her toes tight. " _Nnh_ \- Can I? Please, can I c-come?"

He gave a breathy laugh, one that reeked of triumph, and then she felt the coil inside her body snapping before he could even answer her. She came with a violent shuddering, the orgasm ripping across her psyche like a tidal wave.

Draco tilted his head back as she slanted her lips over his own. Her hands held both sides of his face as she kissed and whimpered into his mouth, all while he pulled her body into a realm of pure ecstasy and held her there to drown her.

It felt like it went on forever. She'd never come so hard in her entire life, and she wasn't entirely sure it didn't have something to do with the fact that he'd made her hold back. Her entire body sagged against his, their wild snog fading naturally into soft pecks.

Hermione felt Draco's hands gripping her waist, pulling a sigh from her as he sat back. She fell forward, just as he had told her to, and straddled his waist with her knees on the floor. She felt exhausted, but the moment their hips were flush, she could feel his hardness through his trousers. He made a small grunt.

"Did you want -"

He cut her off. "No. I'm all right."

"Maybe next time." Hermione gave him one more kiss and then relaxed in his arms.

They sat there like that for a while, Hermione hands crushed between their chests and her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her lips brushed up against his neck like a barely-there kiss, but he didn't react to show if it did anything to him. He just focused on her.

Draco's hands roamed up and down her arms, back, and legs. He even massaged her aching thigh muscle in a way that relaxed her further against his body.

"You're all right," he murmured, occasionally kissing the top of her head. "You did so well."

For a moment, she felt tears brewing in the cauldrons of her eyes. It was just like the night he'd pulled her from the well. When he'd comforted her while she cried. And he'd paid special attention to her leg the entire time.

Draco was so much more caring than he pretended to be. The sheer difference between the way Draco had treated her for one hook-up and the way Ron had treated her for their entire seven month relationship staggered her.

She could sleep there on the floor of the library, break all of the rules, and not care one iota.

"We should get going," he said after what felt like an hour, and his tone seemed masked. "It's late."

"Yes," Hermione said. "It's a weekend, but I'm tired."

"Mm."

She started trying to extricate herself, but let out a gasp of surprise when he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up with him. She felt weightless for a moment. They stood together, his hands lingering on her sides. They were warm.

Hermione looked up at him, studying his face for any traces of regrets.

Draco gazed at her lips.

Hermione was seconds away from throwing her arms around his neck when he took a step back. He reached up to adjust his hair and then _accio_ ed his wand. Apparently, he'd left it elsewhere in the library.

After some cleaning and concealment charms, Hermione could feel it in the air. It was thick and cloying, almost tangible in the way her skin crawled with it. Her anxiety responded, feeling as though it were jumping up into her throat.

Awkwardness.

They walked back in silence. Hermione didn't feel quite as hesitant to wrap her hands around his arm and limp along beside him, but she did find it strange that he offered her his elbow again. Why didn't he want to put his arm around her waist like he had the day he rescued her?

Her heart sunk and her anxiety rose higher.

Was she bad at what they had done? Did he regret it because she was Muggle-born? They hadn't even resolved anything between them yet, either, so did he regret it because he was still feeling betrayed by her?

What had Harry said to him?

When they finally made it to the Gryffindor portrait, Hermione felt like she was falling asleep on her feet. She let go of him and they faced one another.

She lifted her chin to look up at him, but he was rubbing the back of his neck, gazing off into the darkness of the corridor.

"The library is done," Hermione said. "You'll need to report that to the HRC."

"Yeah," he said, still not looking at her.

Hermione gripped the hem of the front of her skirt again, feeling shy and sad. She knew it was too much to think someone like him would want to be with someone like her. As confident as she was in her academic abilities, she wasn't quite as confident in her skills with wizards.

Apparently, she wasn't going to get top marks with Draco.

" _I find I rather like the chase."_

The way he was refusing to meet her gaze? It didn't seem like he wanted to pursue her at all.

"So, you'll be here tomorrow morning for breakfast?" she said, tucking one of her curls behind her ear.

"Yes."

"Can we also go by the Infirmary tomorrow? I need to discuss my medication with Madam Pomfrey."

"Yeah," he said, and he finally looked at her, his hands in his pockets. His eyes were guarded again, like they'd been at the beginning of the year. "Anything else?"

Had she made a mistake?

But she couldn't go back to the way things were. Not after that. In fact, she liked him _more_ now than she had before. He was so sweet and attentive, and he seemed to want her to feel good. He seemed to care . . .

Unless he was just a really great actor.

Unless she'd said something wrong at some point.

Unless he just wasn't able to set whatever it was that Harry said aside.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked in a tiny voice, holding his gaze and trying not to let herself fall apart right there in the hall.

He stared at her, and his brow furrowed. There was a flicker there, something that looked like pity, and then he was a wall again.

"I'd better get going," he said, his voice quiet, "If I'm going to wake up early to be back here on time."

Hermione's heart wrenched in her chest. She could feel the urge to cry getting stronger and stronger. She looked down, because she knew that his reply was answer enough.

She was mortified.

"Okay." It was a whisper, because that was all she could manage. "Goodnight."

"Night." He turned and trudged back down the corridor, the sounds of his shoes against the stone echoing until they faded into silence.

Hermione stood in the entrance of the common room for a long time, swathed in darkness and crying silently into her hand. Her heart hurt.

She felt like a complete and utter child. And all she could think about was the fact that Pansy said he told her that he felt betrayed. If he truly felt that way, why didn't he want to give her a chance to fix it?

And what on Merlin's green Earth did Harry say to him?


	13. Chapter 13

**Small**

**Chapter Thirteen - Awkward**

O

**April 1st, 1999**

"Just make sure you take it on time, every day. No extra doses."

Hermione gave Madam Pomfrey a grateful smile as she accepted the parcel from her. It was small, but it was as valuable as gold to Hermione. Inside was wrapped a potion that nearly completely eradicated her pain and enabled her to walk without a limp.

"I mean it," Madam Pomfrey said, raising her eyebrows at Hermione in gentle warning. "This potion is potent, and you only need one dosage per day. If you take even one extra, you will run out before the end of Easter Hols and I won't be back to give you the counteractive potion."

Hermione's brows met. "Counteractive potion?"

"This potion," Madam Pomfrey said, gesturing to the parcel, "contains powdered amethyst. It's highly effective for pain relief, but if you stop it suddenly, your pain could intensify. It won't affect your healing, thankfully, but if you don't want to have a very traumatic Easter Hols, I suggest you follow my instructions carefully."

Hermione nodded, clutching the parcel tighter on instinct. Madam Pomfrey had administered her one dose for today, which was the 1st, and given her a vial to last the next 10 days. Easter Hols would be ending on the 9th, but Madam Pomfrey had stated earlier in Hermione's visit that she would be back on the 10th. Typically, she wouldn't prescribe such a strong medicine, but if everyone was going to be gone for Hols, then Hermione couldn't limp around everywhere by herself.

"I will," she said, giving the Healer another smile. "I hope you have a wonderful holiday."

"You as well," Madam Pomfrey said with a little wave. "Don't make a muck of the castle!"

Hermione laughed, returned the wave, and left.

It was nice, finally being able to walk normally and without pain. She put one foot in front of the other, and there was nothing. No reverberation, no shocks, no ache.

No limp.

Hermione clutched her parcel close to her chest, feeling happy for the first time in weeks. She'd never felt as relieved to have a prescription as she did now.

She crossed the Quad, inhaling the fresh Spring air in a content manner. Above, the sun was present behind white clouds and there was no hint of rain. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she headed towards the bridge to the main part of the castle. She stopped on the dirt path outside the courtyard.

Draco was coming across the bridge.

He was clad in a pair of black trousers and a fitted turtleneck jumper colored grey. He had one hand in his pocket and the other was in the process of pushing his hair back. He glanced up, as though just checking for something in his way, and then did a double take.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat as their eyes met.

It was difficult not to remember what he looked like when he was gazing up at her from his knees. It was almost the same as the way he looked down at her when he towered over her.

Only more intense.

"There you are," he said, stopping before her. His voice was soft, like he didn't want to shatter the peace of the afternoon. "I told you I'd go with you for this one, too."

"Yeah, well, it's okay," Hermione said, pushing her hair behind her ear as she tilted her chin up. She averted her eyes for a moment, to come up for air, and then lost herself in pools of silver again. "I was going for pain potion, and figured I could make one last trek on my own."

"Any issues?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I made it all right." She held up the parcel for him to see. "Got a week's worth, too, so . . . You won't need to worry about me while you're gone."

His eyes narrowed a fraction and he cocked his head to the side. "Gone? I'm not going anywhere."

"For Easter Hols? Don't you want to see your mother?"

It was his turn to look off to the side. "Ah, no. She's busy planning a gala. With my father gone, we don't want to celebrate as a family this year. I'll be staying on at Hogwarts for the holiday."

Hermione tried not to feel the butterflies fluttering around in her abdomen. Hermione knew for a fact that most of the student body was going to be leaving for the holiday. According to Pansy at breakfast that morning, most of the HRC committee had reported they'd be gone that week. Hermione hadn't been to a meeting in months, so she was surprised to hear it.

She'd be virtually alone in the castle with Draco for an entire week.

"Okay," she said, and she gave him a weak smile. "Well, anyway . . . I've got to get to my next class."

There was a bit of an awkward dance as she walked towards him and he didn't move until it was almost too late. After some light feinting, they both gave strange, meek laughs.

"I was coming out here to find you," he said.

"And I'm going the same way, I guess," Hermione said.

Her chest tightened. On the outside, this would look like a bizarre encounter between two strangers on the streets of Muggle London. But to them, it was the epitome of uncomfortable.

They were going to have to walk the bridge together.

"I guess you won't be needing me anymore," Draco said, voice somewhat flat. "Should I contact my parole Auror?"

"The medicine is only for the holiday," Hermione said, hugging the parcel to her body as they walked. She wore a knee-length dress today underneath her robes and the air was chilly. The skin on her legs pebbled from the breeze that came up through the canyon beneath the bridge. "Once it ends, it's back to limping for me. You can . . . See it as a little holiday within the much larger one."

"Hm."

"Yes."

Their feet creaked on the wood. It may have been the fact that Hermione was still so intimidated by him, but she felt like he was even taller than he'd been before. She drew her shoulders back, trying to carry herself like the witch she'd been before December. It was difficult.

Everything was difficult now.

They were halfway across the long bridge.

"How are things going for you?" Hermione asked, trying to make some real conversation for once.

He took a moment to respond. "Fine."

Hermione bit her lower lip, trying to think of something else to say before they reached the end of the bridge. This was just so awkward. There was no other word for it. Hermione was certain he would rather be anywhere other than here outside with her.

 _He's probably glad for the break,_ she thought, feeling a forlorn nostalgia spreading through her chest like a heavy shadow.

"I'm probably going to fail my N.E.W.T.s," he suddenly said, and it sounded like the words had escaped him against his will. "I think."

Hermione didn't look at him, feeling a bit of excitement rising inside of her. It seemed like he actually wanted to _talk_. She didn't want to shatter the temporary tranquility by saying anything too forward, so she kept calm.

"Why do you think that?" she asked.

"I dunno," he mumbled. "Just a feeling."

Hermione frowned, her academic brain kicking into high gear. "Well, is it the curriculum? Are the classes difficult?"

"No," he said, his tone a bit strained. "Just trouble focusing."

"Well, I can help you study."

There was silence. Hermione blushed, feeling the heat all over her face. She'd blurted the words out without thinking. As if he would want to _study_ with her. She was delusional.

"We'll see," he said.

"Okay," Hermione said, resisting the urge to hit her own forehead with the heel of her palm.

More silence.

"And . . . You?"

"Me?" she said.

"How are . . ." He cleared his throat. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she said, almost whispering it. "I still think about the well sometimes. Well . . . Most of the time. Mostly in my dreams. But I try not to think about it during the day because I don't think I can handle another panic attack alone."

"You can . . ." He trailed off as they stepped off the bridge. Their pace had slowed to an amble, and the entrance to the castle was right in front of them. "You can always sit beside me in Advanced Potions."

Hermione stared up at him. "What?"

The breeze played with his platinum hair. "I'm supposed to watch over you. That's part of the reason why I'm allowed to use my wand outside of class - because I'm supposed to be using it to help you if need be. So, if you need extra care, then I don't see any issue with you sitting beside me in class."

Hermione blinked. "You mean, in case I have another -"

He nodded, so she stopped talking. His skin appeared paler than usual. The discomfort was visible on his face, and Hermione wondered if he could tell how uncomfortable she was, too.

But as she stood there with him, knowing that they couldn't stand here forever and that things were never going to be the same between them again, she had to ask him. The words burst forth.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

And just like that: peace shattered.

His eyes flashed.

"Did you buy an Easter gift for anyone special?" he countered, and his voice seemed to walk the edge of anger.

Hermione wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, but she didn't dare move. The way he was glaring down at her . . . It wasn't her business. She had no right to ask him something like that. He probably thought she was trying to bring up Romilda again, or act the way she had a few weeks ago: like he belonged to her.

"I'm so -"

But he was already walking away.

O

**April 2nd, 1999**

When Hermione awoke on the first official day of the holiday, she was greeted by a deathly-quiet common room.

Most students were gone, but Hermione had nowhere she wanted to be. Her parents were in Australia, with no idea who she even was. She didn't have the emotional or mental capacity to deal with the concept of never seeing her parents again. She couldn't go to Ron's, either, because she was upset with him for the Howler and didn't feel comfortable at the Burrow just yet.

Harry was a separate issue.

The day after the incident with Draco in the library, Hermione had taken out some parchment and crafted a simple letter to him. She wasn't sure how to ask him at first, because she was inclined to writing more than she really should, but in the end she settled for short and brief.

 _Harry,_ she had written. _What did you say to him?_

She had signed it with her initials and sent it off. He would know who it was from and what it meant. He would know how he had hurt her.

It had been one day shy of three weeks since she sent that letter and so far, no response.

Now, on April the 1st, Hermione had no intentions of going to the Burrow. Not with Ron there, and not with Harry. She wasn't sure what to do about Ron, but she refused to see Harry until he wrote her back. She deserved an explanation, because she certainly wasn't going to get one from Draco.

Things with Draco hadn't gotten any better. They'd gone from cold to awkward, and now when he helped her to class, Hermione barely touched him. She just limped alongside him with determination and a mask of indifference, even when her leg was screaming at her to sit and rest.

It wasn't like he could even look at her. She could barely make eye contact with him, either. Looking at him only brought flashbacks of their encounter in the library back to her. It reminded her of the fact that no matter how awkward things were now, she was fairly certain she would never feel comfortable or confident enough to be that way with a wizard again.

She didn't even know why she'd gone along with his commands. When he'd asked her to hold back, she hadn't even questioned it. She'd just done it.

And the way he'd effortlessly blended consent, his caring treatment of her, and pleasure?

There was just no way anyone could top that, at this point.

But that didn't matter, because he'd made it clear he wasn't interested in anything with her. He'd said, " _I find I rather like the chase,"_ but Hermione was sure that he'd just said that in the heat of the moment. She wanted to believe it was just because he didn't like her, or wasn't interested in her, but she knew.

It was Harry's fault.

She dressed casually, the way she would if she were lounging at home: in a pair of black stretchy leggings, a black camisole, and a red plaid shirt that was much too large for her. Upon inspection, she realized with a flush to her cheeks that the shirt was actually Ron's.

Hermione stood in front of the mirror and pulled it on like a jacket. It dwarfed her small frame, falling down to expose one shoulder.

And she just didn't care.

Ever since the encounter with Draco in the library, Hermione had been feeling numb. She'd cried all the tears she had every night for a straight week in March until Pansy told her it was giving her circles under her eyes. Not that Hermione cared about that, but it was incentive enough for Hermione to tell her what had occurred.

Pansy had been horrified, mostly with the fact that Draco hadn't kissed Hermione at the end of the night. Which was the most mortifying, shameful part of the entire situation. Even Pansy had no idea what was wrong with him.

" _There's no way he only wanted a hook-up with you,"_ Pansy had said at lunch a few days after it had happened. She was sitting between Hermione and Neville at the Gryffindor table, and no one had seemed to mind it. " _I know that boy. I know him. Something's up."_

At that point, Hermione didn't care about the situation anymore. She was tired of feeling sad over a boy not liking her back. A boy who didn't even belong to her. It wasn't as though he'd ever _told_ her he had feelings for her. She'd just assumed he was interested because of an almost-kiss in the Prefect's bathroom. He'd saved her from her worst nightmare, and now she could see what had really happened.

She'd attached herself to him because he'd saved her from a trauma. That wasn't healthy, and it wasn't right to hold him to a standard he had no obligation of living up to. Hermione now understood that.

" _I wanted to hook up with him,"_ Hermione had replied quietly so that no one else heard her besides Pansy. " _And that's what we did. We didn't sleep together, but I got what I wanted. He wasn't my boyfriend, and I had no right to act like he was."_

" _I should talk to him,"_ Pansy had said while giving Hermione a sympathetic look. " _I can ask him -"_

" _No,"_ Hermione had said. " _Just let sleeping Thestrals lie, Pansy."_

And now, three weeks later, Hermione had made everything awkward again by asking him if he was seeing anyone. There would probably be no studying. When school resumed, she was likely not invited to sit beside him any longer. The tentative hand of acquaintanceship that he'd extended had been retracted faster than she could blink, and it was her bloody fault.

What an absolute _tosser_ she was.

Since she was fine to walk now that she had the pain potion, she headed out of her dorm room wearing the lounge clothing she'd chosen. She'd piled her curls on top of her head and wore a pair of black slippers, which made soft softs on the stone as she walked.

It was rather nice being alone in Hogwarts. Oh, she was sure there were some students wandering about, but it would be nothing like when school was in session. Hermione planned on taking her time and eating her fill that morning. Having a break from the crowd would give her relief from her anxiety. She was grateful for that.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the cool morning air against her bare shoulder. This shirt was way too big, but it was comfortable and kept her warm for the most part. The fact that it was Ron's plaid made it feel weird, but she wasn't going to make any attempt to contact him right now.

It wasn't that she blamed Ron for her falling out with Malfoy, since she had her own part to play in it. The issue lied within the fact that her relationship with Ron had caused problems within herself. She could stand in front of an army of Death Eaters, but when it came to relationships, feelings, and romance, it was like she forgot how to function.

The fact that she'd been so smarmy over Draco without even trying to talk to him about it was embarrassing. He was probably scared of her, the same way Ron had been scared of Lavender after a while.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. She had definitely learned a lot about herself from this situation, and not just sexually. She understood a little bit more about wizards in general, as well as the proper way to act around them. Things probably would have gone a bit better for her if she'd just told Draco she fancied him.

 _I hope Harry replies to me soon,_ she thought, staring at the ground as she walked towards the moving staircase room.

When she got to the Dining Hall, there were only a few other students present, all younger. Hermione saw that McGonagall was still here, as well as a couple of other professors, and she waved to them. Then, she took a seat at the Gryffindor table.

Instead of the normal feast, a single plate heaped with food appeared in front of Hermione, as well as a cup of orange juice. She started to eat immediately, finding that it was much easier to enjoy the taste of her food when her leg wasn't hurting.

Draco entered a few minutes after Hermione did, and their eyes met when she turned her head to glance at the entrance. She quickly turned back to her food, taking another bite.

She wished things hadn't gone so sour between them. Graduation was in a couple of months, and she didn't want to leave Hogwarts with nothing but bad memories. She didn't want to think back on it as the year she was thrown down a well, hooked up with a boy she practically pined over, and then ended the year angry with her best friend.

The sound of someone clearing their throat. A shadow cast across her plate.

Hermione looked up.

"Draco," she said, her eyes wide. "Um . . . Good morning."

He stood there, wearing an oversize black jumper and slim black trousers. "Are you available to study today?"

Hermione was taken aback. She'd thought . . . After yesterday on the bridge . . .

"I - I mean, yes," she said, setting her fork down. "We can do that today. Which class is it for?"

"Just for Potions," he said. "Potion theory, specifically. Slughorn is nightmarishly droll with his lectures, and I'm willing to bet galleons that you took ample notes anyway."

Hermione couldn't help it. She gave him a deadpan, exasperated expression. "You're right. I did."

He smirked.

He actually _smirked_ , and for a moment, it felt like it was January.

"Leave it to you to take notes out of boredom."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze fell upon her exposed shoulder, lingering there for a moment. Hermione followed his line of sight and then, trying to be discreet, she pulled the shirt back up.

"I'll meet you after breakfast," he said, and then he walked back to the Slytherin table. "In the library."

Hermione ate the rest of her breakfast, finishing it before he did. Then, she made her way down the aisle between tables. Her sleeve fell down again, but she was too lost in her thoughts to care.


	14. Chapter 14

**WARNING: some citrus and anxiety attacks**

* * *

**Small**

**Chapter Fourteen - Resistance**

O

The rainy, grey morning sky outside filtered in through the windows that lined the tops of library walls, giving them a healthy mix of shadows and light to see by.

They were the only ones in the library. It didn't surprise Hermione that it was empty. The library had been a hotspot for student activity after they'd finished it in March, but now that everyone was on holiday, it was completely empty. Madam Pince had gone home for Easter as well, so the only two people present in the room were Draco and Hermione.

Hermione passed the alcoves, pretending not to see them. She didn't want there to be any insinuations. She didn't exactly regret hooking up with him, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hook up with him again if there was nothing after it ended.

She didn't want the risk, even if he was handsome, intimidating, and a reminder of the only person who had saved her in spite of having everything to lose. He'd used magic when it violated his parole and he'd attacked Sebastien to defend _her_ honor, and it had gotten him thrown in prison. Of course she fancied him.

But that was the issue. She fancied him. She'd _told_ him she fancied him, and he'd completely missed the cue. He'd either only been interested in something temporary, or whatever Harry had said had really made him mistrust her. All Hermione had wanted was for him to tell her if he liked her back and . . .

What _had_ she wanted?

Had she wanted him to notice her feelings and acknowledge them? Had she wanted him to confess his own feelings for her? Had she wanted him to ask her to be his witch? What would that even _look_ like?

 _I didn't think any of this through,_ she thought. _No wonder I felt so smarmy. I wasn't even sure I knew what I wanted, yet I was angry with him for not wanting me._

They went to the center-most part of the library, the shelves positioned to the north and south of them. Then, they selected one of the ten round tables.

Hermione frowned down at the tabletop, barely reacting to Draco pulling out a chair across from her and setting his Potions book and parchments down on top of it. He'd gone back to Slytherin to collect them while Hermione did the same and went to Gryffindor. Now, she could see that he'd taken no notes.

"He really is quite boring," she said, trying to fix a small smile on her face. She knew it probably didn't quite reach her eyes, but she supposed it was better than pouting or frowning. "Slughorn."

"Yeah," Draco said with a sigh, his eyebrows rising in agreement. "I'd agree with that. I never take notes because I'm too busy trying to keep my eyes open."

"I write notes _to_ keep my eyes open," Hermione replied with a small laugh.

He snorted, but that was all she got out of him in that vein. In the next moment, he was giving her an expectant look.

"What?" she said. Had she already messed something up?

"How do you want to do this?" he asked. "You're the one with all of the notes."

Hermione blinked and then let out a nervous laugh. "Oh . . . Right. Well, I guess I could read the key points off to you so you can do research on your own?"

"Or you could let me copy them."

Hermione scoffed. "I'm not -"

"Kidding," he said. "It was a joke."

"Oh."

They were quiet, just staring at each other for a few moments, and then Hermione sighed.

"I'll just try to give you a summary of what I think he was trying to say," she said. "You can take notes on what I say."

He shrugged and shuffled his parchment for a moment until he had an empty piece in front of him. Once he'd pulled a quill out of his bag, Hermione figured the best way to get over the tension was to just leap right into it. She skimmed her notes and began to relay her understanding of the material aloud to him.

She'd never had a hook-up before, so it was strange sitting at a table with him, watching the guarded, serious expression on his face while she tried not to remember the entire experience they'd had together. What was the allure in hooking up with witches and wizards if things were just so strange afterward?

Did Draco feel the strain in the air between them, too? Could he also not look her in the eyes without remembering what it felt like to snog one another? Was he even listening to a word she was saying? Because she certainly wasn't listening to herself.

She found that the more she summarized the lecture notes for the term, the more her gaze honed in on him. She hoped the words leaving her mouth were making some sort of impact on him. If someone were to ask her to explain what she'd taught him, she wouldn't have the slightest clue.

He had one foot up on the chair, his elbow slung across his knee while he chewed on his thumbnail. With his other hand, he scrawled notes as fast as she spoke the words. He'd pushed the sleeves of his jumper up, revealing the corded forearms she'd found so attractive the last time they were in the library together.

Even curled up in a chair in such a lackadaisical way, he was taller than her. His lashes were so long - so long it was criminal - and whenever his eyes flickered up to meet hers to show that he was listening to her, she felt like they looked almost crystalline. His hair had fallen forward, giving him a boyish, charming appearance that gave Hermione the urge to sweep her fingers through it and feel how soft it was again.

 _I don't think I've ever really looked at him,_ she thought, taking him in with a bit of chagrin. _I hope he doesn't notice me staring . . ._

"Wait," Draco said, cutting into the middle of her ramblings.

Hermione stammered to a stop. He'd let her speak for twenty minutes without interruption, until now. She blinked twice.

"What?" she said.

"You said that he said the theory is that _naturally dried_ powdered roots work better for medicinal brews than roots that are ground after they've been roasted," he said, setting his quill down for a second. He rested his hand on his upraised kneecap. "Wouldn't roasted roots be better?"

"Oh . . . No," Hermione said. "No, because the penetration of the heat during the roasting process can alter the components of the roots and actually lessen the potion's potency. Sometimes, it could even cause the potion to fail."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing. "That makes no sense. Fire doesn't alter the components of a plant. It burns it, heats it, or eradicates. But it cannot change it."

Hermione started to speak, to move the conversation forward, but something in her chest wouldn't let her. She gave him the same polite smile she gave every man when they were wrong.

" _No_ , actually when it comes to the types of roots that are used medicinally, fire that is heated with a wand _can_ change the components of roots."

He stared at her. "That is scientifically impossible."

"And what would you know of science?" she snapped, her internal need to always be right - especially when she _knew_ she was right - overwhelming her. It pushed her to the side of irritation. "That's awfully _Muggle_ of you, wouldn't you say?"

"I like potions, Granger," he said, his tone sharp and edged. "I've always liked them. I know as well as any good potioneer that science is universal. It's Muggle and it's magical. Do _you_ know anything of science?"

"I -" The words died in her throat.

She couldn't lie. Hermione had never been a good liar. The truth was that while she had always excelled in academia, that didn't mean she'd excelled in _Muggle_ subjects. She spent her Summers studying the curriculum for the upcoming year at Hogwarts, so she could have a head start over everyone else. Not reading about Muggle science.

Something inside of Draco's eyes glinted the way they would if he were smirking, but the corners of his lips were turned down. His elbow still on his knee, he waved his hand in a dismissive motion and spoke.

"Didn't I make it clear with the types of books I liked to read that I'm not the person I used to be?"

Hermione felt her temper flaring. That was ridiculous. After the cold shoulder he'd been giving her since he got back from Azkaban, that was a lie on _his_ part. And he had never had any qualms lying.

"Well," she said, her tone cold, "you could have fooled me."

They glared at one another, each one toeing the line like two territorial wolves. Draco was defending himself for whatever reasons he'd been keeping close to the breast since February. Hermione was on the offense, ensuring that he knew how she really felt.

"You just think you know everything." His upper lip curled as he pushed his fingers into his messy hair and looked at her from beneath his lashes. It was an almost torturously similar look to the one he'd given her the night he'd said she was good as his. "Don't you?"

"No, I don't," she shot back.

"You seemed to think you knew who I fancied," he said, and she could hear the notes of rage ringing beneath the tenor of his voice.

_Arsehole. He certainly has a way of delivering lines with the calmest expression on his face._

Hermione simply glared at him. She racked her brain for a solution and then, like a candle flickering to life, it came to her. The library _had_ a Muggle section. And it had rudimentary books in it. There _had_ to be a science book in there somewhere.

"Let's resolve this right now," she said, placing her hands flat on the table and scooting back her chair as she stood up. "I'll go grab a book from the Muggle section."

He scoffed. "What? A _science_ book?"

"Yes." She turned her nose up in the air and stormed off through the stacks.

She had to be right. After everything that had happened, she needed to at least be right. The humiliation that she would experience if she couldn't at least have this _one_ thing might be too much for her to bear.

As she wandered the relatively small Muggle section, her fingers scanning the spines and looking for anything useful, she could feel her anxiety beginning to rise. She didn't want to cry _again_ , but this entire situation was just a little overwhelming for her.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids and counted down, urging herself to calm. It felt like the bubble in her chest had returned, and heedless of the area and who she was with, it was _going_ to expand and eclipse her. It was going to explode and fill her body with panic that poisoned her from within.

It felt inescapable.

And then it did.

Hermione slapped both of her hands over her mouth, dissolving into quiet yet bone wracking sobs right there in the stacks. The arguing, Romilda, the hook-up, the well . . . Everything was bearing down on her now. Right now. In the library. It was _too much_.

She just wanted to be able to breathe without feeling like everything was falling apart.

 _I need to get it together,_ she thought, trying with desperation to drag her emotions back into her heart. She wiped the tears off of her cheeks with furious speed, ensuring that her eyes were free and clear, and then she resumed her search.

There was a science book. Just one, amongst a slew of strange books like _How to Knit, Automobiles,_ and _Your Body and You._ It was on the highest shelf and Hermione, in her anger, had left her wand at the table. She reached her arm out and _accio_ ed it, used it to get the book down - which was simply called _Science_ \- and then stomped back over to the table.

Draco was sitting normally now, with his arms crossed on the table as he leaned forward. He watched her walk back over, and a faint amusement played about his lips.

The moment she slammed the Muggle textbook down on the table, she just knew she looked even more foolish than she did before. There was no way they were going to find an answer to such a specific question. Fire and roots? She was such a mug.

Draco looked at the book, up at her where she stood, and back down again. Then, he did a double take. He studied her, each second that went by raising her hackles higher. She hoped he couldn't tell that she'd been crying. She'd never been the splotchy type and she hadn't worn any mascara today. But by the way he was looking at her, she couldn't help but worry that he knew she'd broken down.

"It's not a big deal, Granger," he said. "It was just a question."

Hermione sat down, trying to save face by pushing the book toward him. "Perhaps you should do your own research then. Since you don't trust my judgement, or Professor Slughorn's."

Draco rolled his eyes. He made no move to accept the book.

They sat there in silence. Hermione chewed her lip, her anxiety continuing to claw and claw and claw. She didn't seem to know where to look. Draco stared at her.

 _Gods, I'm so bloody dense_ , she thought. _Why in the_ world _did I make such a scene? That book is for children. It's not going to have specific answers about roots in relation to fire. Merlin's beard. What was I_ thinking _?_

"It's an interesting choice in clothing," he said, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands in his lap, hidden where she couldn't see them. He looked way more relaxed than she thought she would ever feel. "A _men's_ shirt."

Hermione glanced down at herself, unsure if she was happy he wasn't focusing on the stupid book, or unhappy that he was obviously trying to argue some more. The side of Ron's plaid shirt had fallen down, revealing her shoulder. She reached for it, preparing to pull it back up, and then paused.

"Does it _bother_ you?" she said in a snide tone, her heart pounding with her nerves, but her anger usurping it.

"Why would it bother me?" he asked, eyebrows and chin rising.

"Because it's Ron's."

That was dumb. That was absolutely _dumb_. She wasn't with Ron. She hadn't _been_ with Ron in ages.

She just wanted to see if she could hurt Draco as much as he hurt her.

"No wonder it's too big for you," he said, leaning forward and smirking. "The oaf's the size of a mountain troll."

"Why do you care what I'm wearing, and how big it is?" She saw his gaze drop to her shoulder, exposed saved for the thin strap of her black camisole. "It is because you Purebloods are so _proper_?"

Draco burst out laughing, and it sounded almost derisive. "Granger, you should know I'm the furthest from _proper_."

Hermione looked away. She didn't want him to know that she did know that, and that she'd been thinking about it way more than was healthy. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ be able to forget their hook-up.

Feeling like the walls were closing in on her again, she reached for the science book and scrambled to her feet.

"Where are you off to?" he cried. "Granger, I'll look at the bloody thing!"

"No. It's daft." Hermione made her way back to the Muggle section, feeling red with embarrassment.

"No, it's not. Just let me see it."

His voice was loud. He was following her.

She sped up.

When they got to the stack and one beside it, they both stepped into the little aisle. Hermioen had left her wand at the table again, but she was too frazzled to think about _accio_ ing it again. And since she wasn't going to disrespect all of their hard work during a weird panic attack, and she wasn't going to ask _him_ for help, she lifted herself onto the tips of her toes to try and push the book into the opening she'd left between books. She shot a glare behind her at the sound of his sigh.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bookshelf. He watched her struggle with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

Hermione was using the arm that had the sleeve on, and the other side of the plaid shirt had fallen so much that part of her upper back was revealed. Stretching up hurt the muscles underneath her arms, too. Something about the way he was just watching her bothered her, even though she had no intention of requesting assistance.

"Why would you keep your ex-wizard's shirt?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to," Hermione said, voice straining as she teetered on her tip-toes. "What's it to you?"

Draco snorted. "You're a right brat today, aren't you?"

"So what if I am?" She gave a sound of frustration as the book toppled toward her and fell to the ground. Frustrated, she stood there trying to catch her breath. She put her hands on her hips. "Just because _you_ don't act proper, doesn't mean that you don't expect _witches_ to. Does it bother you that my shoulder's showing?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze dragging up and down the length of her body. "It does."

Offended, Hermione let out a scowl. She leaned down and snatched up the book. It figured. Maybe that had been the problem the whole time. That she wasn't a Pureblood witch. Maybe that's the entire reason why he never let himself fancy her in return, if there was even any _fancy_ within him to give to her.

"You're awfully interested in my clothing," she said, grunting as she tried again to put the book away while dancing on the tips of her toes, "for someone who isn't interested in _me_."

"Hm," was his only response. She could feel him scrutinizing her, watching her struggle, and she hated it.

In a time that now felt far away, Hermione would have asked him to lift her up.

"It's not as if _you've_ got a plaid for me to borrow," she said in a mocking tone, wrinkling her nose. She pulled a face at the bookshelf where he couldn't see. "So, I'd quit your whinging."

"I've got this jumper?"

Hermione froze, her heart tripping upon itself. The book was perched halfway on the shelf, but she couldn't see the opening, and so she had no idea how close or far away from sliding home it was.

"You're not going to give me your _jumper_ ," Hermione said, returning his onceover with a disdainful one of her own. "The last thing you want is to see _me_ in your _expensive_ clothing, I'm sure."

"And you're gonna tell _me_ what _I_ want?" He took a step closer, his arms crossing over the front of his torso. He gripped the hem of the black knit, beginning to raise it. His facial expression challenged her.

"It's not hard to guess," she hissed. "You've made it fairly clear."

He yanked the jumper up over his head, revealing a white tee shirt underneath. The hem of that shirt lifted slightly, revealing his abdomen. His stomach was just as toned as his arms were and while she had no plans to ask him how he'd maintained a Seeker's build when he didn't even play Quidditch anymore, she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

Hermione dropped the book again.

"Here." He held the jumper out to her.

"What?" She looked at it as though it revolted her. "Do you want me to _wear_ it?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding a bit angry. "I want you to wear it."

Hermione crossed her arms.

He re-offered it and snarled, "Just put the bloody thing on, you silly bint."

Before she could retort, he stormed up to her and dragged the jumper down over her head. It fell to mid thigh, like a dress, and was so big that the sleeves extended past the tip of her fingers.

She stood there, her cheeks flaming with heat as he reached underneath her curls to pull them free of the collar. Tiny shivers rippled through her at the feeling of his hands near her scalp. At this proximity, if she wanted to meet his eyes, she would have to tilt her head all the way back. She had no idea if he was glaring at her, or focusing on what he was doing.

His hands rested on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing circles into the flesh above her collarbones like a reverse massage. Butterflies traversed her body, making her skin tingle. His jumper smelled of him, of the cologne he always wore, and she tried not to close her eyes as she inhaled. It was almost relaxing.

Here, in this small, cramped aisle between stacks, she felt like they were lost in their own world.

"Do you want me to put the book away?" he murmured.

"No," Hermione said, jolting out of her makeshift reverie. "I can do it."

She knelt down beside his legs, struggling with the overlong sleeves as she picked the book up off of the floor for the second time. It took her a couple of tries, the sweater was just so big, and then she finally had it. Turning around to face the shelf as though he weren't less than a foot away from her, she rose up again on her tip-toes and blindly moved the book around.

"Want me to lift you up?"

Gods, his tone was so sarcastic.

Irritation clouded her mind and with a scream of irritation, the book tumbled to the floor _again_. Whirling around with eyes that burned with her foul temper, she glared up at him.

His hands gripped her hips and slammed her back against the stacks, his head ducking down to crash his mouth against hers. There was an awkward moment where Hermione's teeth connected with his, and then his tongue was in her mouth.

The galaxies, stars, and all that. Fuck it.

He was _kissing_ her.

Hermione threw her arms around his neck, practically hanging off of him as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss herself. They snogged with a mutually-assured ravenous desire for one another that she could feel bounding back and forth between them. Her hands were still trapped inside the ridiculous sleeves, but she cupped the back of his head anyway.

At this point, she was starving for more of him, and he was _not_ backing out of this kiss.

The shelves were going to bruise her back, but she didn't care. She caressed his tongue with her own, tasting him as though he really were something edible, wishing for the moment to go on and on and on. She felt his hands traveling up her sides, around to her back. When he turned his head to the right, kissing her so deep that it pulled a moan out of her throat, his fingers cupped her rear and pulled her clear of the floor.

For a moment, she felt weightless. Like she was floating upon a cloud, completely surrounded by the open air, the sky, and Draco. The feeling of his hands there, cupping her close in a way that ground their pelvises against one another's made her feel as though he could carry her up through the atmosphere and out into space. They would drift there together amongst the stars, where they'd both be small.

Hermione broke their kiss to take a breath. Their eyes met for a second and there in his, she saw a glazed-over, lustful look that made her desire curl tight in the pit of her core. She leaned down to kiss him again. He set her down while their lips were still connected.

She pulled away and, with her hands placed on his shoulders, she lifted herself onto her toes again. She feathered kisses across his jawline, shudders running through her at the breathy moans he let out. She kissed all the way up to his ear, so far on her toes that it was almost like ballet.

He gripped the edge of the shelf on either side of her head, cocking his head to the side to give her easier access. His hair fell into his eyes, which she could see upon brief inspection were closed, and he was biting his lip.

She felt like she was in a cocoon made of him.

Hermione sucked his earlobe into her mouth, and he groaned. His entire body pressed into hers, his arms caging her in. It seemed to be overwhelming him with sensitivity, but Hermione didn't stop. She continued her relentless assault on the lobe, the patch of skin beneath it, and the hinge of his jaw. With little nips, kisses, and laps of her tongue, she had him whimpering within moments.

"Granger - _ah_ \- fuck," he whined, his hand slamming against the shelf again and then curving behind her. Judging by what she could feel, he'd laid his forearm flat upon the wood. "

The sounds he made. The words he said. The rolling of his hips on hers.

It all mingled, swirled, and condensed into a potent concoction that had Hermione's entire body trembling and her core clenching with need. She wanted him. Hang the consequences, the after, and the before. She cared about the here and now. Right now, she wanted him. She _liked_ him, and she _wanted_ him.

"Don't stop," Draco moaned, his voice sounding husky and desperate in her ear. "Yeah - yeah. Like that. Don't stop. _Fuck_ , Granger. _Fuck_."

Hermione did exactly as he asked, kissing the delicate skin on and around his ear as though his pleasure were the only thing standing between her and graduation. His hips jerked forward and his hand went to her hip, holding it like a lifeline in a choppy sea. He pulled her against him and turned his head to seek her lips again.

This time, when he kissed her, it was even more frenzied than before. Her hands traversed his chest, but his hands were on a mission. They roamed her entire body, feeling her chest, sides, and back. His fingers found the waistband of her leggings and slipped beneath it, clutching her rear and massaging it in circles.

Hermione tried to moan as the desire in her lower body squeezed tighter. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and let him do whatever he wanted to her. She'd give _anything_ for him to just . . . Just . . .

"Granger," he growled against her lips. "If we don't stop, we're gonna fuck."

"I want to," she said, the words falling from her lips in an almost embarrassing pleading tone. She kissed him over and over. "I do."

He cursed again and dropped kisses to her neck. His fingers were slender, soft as they slipped down deeper into her leggings. They pushed in-between her thighs from behind, the tips brushing through her arousal. She ripped her mouth away from his and buried her face in his chest to muffle her cry. Her hips rocked backward, seeking more contact.

"Inside," she said with a whimper. " _Inside_."

He hesitated.

"No," he said, and then he withdrew his hands. "No, just . . . _Fuck_. No."

"Wh-What?" Hermione panted for breath, reaching for him again.

" _No_." He batted her hands away and held his fingers up. "You just . . . Don't _get_ it."

"What?!" Hermione stared at him, wanting to be angry but seeing in his eyes that it was something else. She reached for him again. "Talk to me, okay? Just _talk_ to me."

"No. I don't - _fucking_ \- want to talk about it!" he roared, his voice echoing in the library. Looked ashen, he ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . Just . . . I have to go."

"No, wait! _Draco_!"

Hermione stood there, feeling blindsided and confused. Her entire body was on edge. Hands still covered by the fabric of her sleeves, she twisted the front of the jumper between her fingers. She stood there, pigeon-toed, watching him leave.

O

**April 3th, 1999**

Hermione spent all of the next day avoiding him.

Well, she didn't exactly _avoid_ him, but she made sure to keep her eyes on her plate at mealtimes and then go straight back to her dorm in-between. She spent the entire day reading, finding that it was the only thing that kept her mind off of the anxiety.

Something was seriously wrong with Draco, on a level much deeper than she had originally thought. Harry had obviously said something to him, but from the way he'd reacted, it seemed like it ran so far into his psyche that it was something that affected his feelings for her.

If there even _were_ any feelings there.

She took some time to watch the rain outside the window and think about everything that had happened that year, too. Ever since Sebastien had attacked her, it seemed that her life would never go back to the way that it was before. She had debilitating anxiety that developed into panic attacks. She was attached to Draco in a way that wasn't exactly natural or healthy. And the trial was getting closer and closer.

How was she supposed to heal if she couldn't even make it through the day without wanting to cry? How was she supposed to face Sebastien in front of the Wizengamot by herself? Harry hadn't even replied to her yet. Did she have his support, or had her feelings for Draco been too much for him to accept?

She needed closure, and the first step was going to be to take her wand, go back out to the well, and close it up. That way, she knew for certain that no one else would be able to get hurt, and no one would be able to put her back into it.

Before the end of Easter Hols, she was going to gather her courage to go out there and see if it helped to close the chapter on trauma and move into the chapter on recovery.

At breakfast, she saw him in the Great Hall, eating with his back to her. It jarred her and filled her with surprise. She hadn't realized that for the entire school year, he'd eaten facing the Gryffindor table. This was the first day he wasn't facing it.

Hermione shrugged it off, sat down to eat, and went back to her room.

At lunch, she nearly ran into him leaving as she entered. She'd waited as long as she could, until the last fifteen minutes of the meal in the hopes that he wouldn't be down there. Unfortunately, she was still a couple minutes too early, because she nearly collided with him upon entry to the Hall.

They said nothing to one another. Hermione didn't try to catch his eyes. She simply went to her table, and he left.

When dinnertime rolled around, Hermione's rumbling stomach ended her debate about whether or not to skip it. With a grudge against her own body, she went down to get some food. As she came down the corridor leading to the doors, she could see Draco. He was coming from the other direction and the expression on his face appeared troubled.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, willing her body not to fall into another panic attack. She focused on her breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.

They reached the entrance at the same time. Something passed between them and they both stood in front of one another.

"You're still wearing my jumper," he mumbled, one hand pushing his hair back and the other in the pocket of his denim trousers. His black tee shirt was fitted. She could see his Dark Mark, but it was just a tattoo to her now.

"And you're wearing Muggle clothing," she replied, her voice a bit above a whisper.

They both spoke at the same time.

"It looks cute on you -"

"You look good in denims -"

Hermione averted her eyes, blushing at his compliment. Draco cleared his throat.

"Have a nice dinner," he muttered, and then he went into the Great Hall.

Hermione stood in the silence for a while, trying to make sense of the encounter they'd just had. After his meltdown in the library, and then avoiding each other all day, he was complimenting her. And this was _after_ the strange way he'd been treating her.

She didn't know what was going on between them, but she supposed they had the next five days to figure it out.


	15. Chapter 15

**TRIGGER WARNING: Anxiety attack.**

**Small**

**Chapter Fifteen - Broken**

O

**April 4th, 1999**

Hermione slept in.

She wasn't the type to sleep in, usually, but for some reason, she felt too exhausted to lift her head off of the pillow. At one point, she was naturally roused from sleep by the sunlight coming in through her window, but she saw no reason to leave her room when it was a holiday. So, she'd let herself settle back into darkness for a few more hours.

When she finally did manage to haul herself out of bed, there was a familiar tapping at her window. An owl hovered there, waiting for her to open it and let it in. She recognized its bizarre, lopsided hovering.

Errol.

She ran to the window and threw it open. Errol gave a garbled hoot, dropped a letter into her waiting hands, and then winged back out into the morning sky.

Hermione broke the seal, and her heart stuttered.

_Hermione,_

_They moved the trial. They were gonna send a missive, but I figured it better just come from me. Initial proceedings are tomorrow morning. If you have any witnesses - like Malfoy - ask them if they can come and present themselves. The official trial is Tuesday._

_Don't be late._

_Also . . . I did say something to him. I'm going to be honest. Please try not to be angry._

_I told him he must be an experiment, for you to be fighting so hard to save him. And then I told him this is what you do. I told him you like solving puzzles and that since he was a complete git, the only reason that makes sense is that you're trying to fix him._

_But I understand now that there's nothing in him to change. He's already changed._

_I didn't know how to tell you because I knew you would be angry, and because after thinking about it, I realized I was wrong. There's no way he would have saved you from the well and violated his parole if he was just a project._

_He wrote me after the Howler and we hashed it out. I tried to tell him I'd made a mistake about your intentions, but I'm not sure he believes me._

_You may want to talk to him._

_Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow._

_All of my love,_

_Harry._

She folded the letter and gazed out the window. Her heart rate had sped up a bit, a clear indicator of her panic rising.

This wasn't at all what she had expected.

It felt like she'd been slammed against the wall, blindsided and attacked. Her hands trembled, already growing clammy with sweat. The trial wasn't supposed to be until May 17th. She was supposed to have more time.

She _needed_ more time.

And Harry. Bloody _Harry_.

Draco's anger towards her made sense now. He thought she was using him as an experiment. He thought she was trying to "fix" him.

But that couldn't be it, could it? He couldn't, in all honesty, think that was out of the blue. He'd spent the majority of their school years as a bully, and then he'd fought on the wrong side of the war. _Of course_ there would be a reason to want to change him.

Harry said they'd hashed it out. Draco had written to him about the Howler. But Draco's countenance toward her seemed to remain tense and stretched thin. There were times where it felt like there was a possibility that he was opening up, but just as soon as he did, he closed himself off again.

What was it about being "fixed" that bothered him? Was it just annoyance that she would have the nerve to try?

Was there something deeper?

After dressing in an oversized jumper and leggings, Hermione headed down to breakfast in a cloud of anxiety and confusion.

What was she going to say at the trial? Sebastien was by no means an illustrious member of wizarding society, but he was a Pureblood. Purebloods were raised to know exactly what to say and when to say it. She needed to work on her defense.

Not that he would have much of a defense, anyway. What defense could one have for throwing someone down a well? Insanity?

As she ate her breakfast, she felt sick to her stomach.

What if he _did_ claim insanity? What if he claimed he'd had a mental breakdown, or claimed that someone had cast the Imperius curse on him? If he'd been under the influence - which she was more than certain he hadn't - then it was a near-instant acquittal.

If he lied before the Minister and the Wizengamot, and they believed him? He would be coming back to Hogwarts. And if she had to walk the halls, looking around every corner? If she had to wait for him to accost her and drag her into some other hole to be murdered?

She didn't think she could cope with that.

Hermione dropped her forehead into her sweating palm. The panic was all-encompassing. Her throat and lungs were beginning to constrict, and she couldn't stop her leg from bouncing underneath the table.

When would this ever _end_?

"Happy Easter."

The voice was monotone, flat in its delivery, and with the hint of a question to it.

She lifted her head, tilting it back so she could look up.

Draco stood across the table from her, and he wore black trousers and a white button-up. He regarded her with an almost-wary gaze, pushing his fingers through his hair as he waited for her response.

"Happy Easter," Hermione said, forcing a tremulous smile.

They stared at one another for a moment, and then she took a chance. There weren't very many people in the Great Hall, and most were absorbed in the consumption of their food. She was certain no one would pay it any mind if he were to simply . . . Have a seat.

"Would you like to sit with me?" she said.

"Er - sure," he said, and then after a split-second of hesitation, he sat down on the bench across from hers.

A plate appeared before him, upon which he began to place food. He organized it so that the different types of food weren't touching, bringing a bit of light to the dark swirl of panic inside of her. At least she knew that if the world around her was crumbling, Draco Malfoy could be counted on to keep his food groups separated.

He ate his grapes with a fork.

"I am wholly unsurprised," she said, "that you eat that way."

He watched her while taking slow, careful bites. "As am I."

"Wait . . . What?" She looked down at her oats, and the spoon in her hand. "What's wrong with the way I eat?"

"You eat oats and water."

" _What_? Oats and - _what_?"

Draco speared another grape with his fork, and then pointed at Hermione's bowl with it. "All that is is oats mixed with water."

"No, it's . . ." She trailed off.

Because it was.

"Oh, honestly," she said, giving him a sour look. She pushed the bowl away. "Now I don't want it anymore."

"No longer hungry?" He ate the grape.

"I wasn't very hungry in the first place."

There was a bit of a silence.

"Breathe," he said.

"Huh?"

He took a bite of his eggs and then looked her directly in the eyes.

"Breathe, Granger. And stop bouncing your leg. Your panic isn't as hidden as you think it is."

Hermione's heart stilled, as did her leg. She swallowed, her throat feeling dry and sticky. Inside of her chest, the balloon of disquiet paused in its expansion.

"They moved the trial," she said, her eyes searching his across the table.

"I know," he said. "I'm a witness, Granger I received a letter from the Ministry, just as you did."

"Oh, well . . . Usually I don't. Harry just tells me whatever it is they want me to know."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. All that matters is I received a letter, too. Initial proceedings begin tomorrow morning, so I guess we're both going to have to use McGonagall's Floo."

"But -"

He let out an exasperated sound. "How else do you think I got out of Azkaban? I broke my parole twice - once with magic, and another with physical violence. The Ministry didn't want to let me out anymore than Potter did."

"I thought . . . I thought the reason they let you out of Azkaban was _only_ because of Harry?" she said, frowning. "Because he spoke to Minister Shacklebolt?"

"He was a part of it," he said. "And then they gave me my wand back under the stipulation that I helped you through your recovery and kept an eye on you. That was McGonagall's little addition."

"So . . . What about the -"

"Harry doesn't have as much power as you think, Granger. He's not a god; he's just an Auror-in-training who happens to have an Order of Merlin under his belt. The Minister needed some show of good faith."

"And so you agreed to be a witness."

"For the prosecution," he said.

Recalling Harry's letter, Hermione realized that there was a very real possibility that Draco was only hanging around her because he had to. That even if he did fancy her at one point, it didn't matter anymore because his own doubts about her intentions were murky. And obligation to the Ministry trumped doubt, which trumped necessity.

She watched him eat and then said, "Are you doing it because you want to, or because you have to?"

He stopped eating so he could return her gaze. She couldn't read his expression and her heart was skipping several of its beats, but she didn't allow herself to falter.

"I never do anything that I don't want to do, Hermione," he said, his words seeming to waltz out of his mouth one right after the other without a care in the world. "At least, not anymore."

She watched him eat in silence for a moment, her chin propped in her palm with her elbow on the table.

What did he mean by that?

A few quiet minutes later, during which he only looked down at his plate, he met her eyes once more.

"Care for a stroll?"

She blinked, a bit taken aback. "A stroll? You mean, with - with _you_?"

"Obviously."

A walk. He wanted to take a walk with her.

It was by no means a declaration of adoration, but . . . She'd take it.

"Well . . . Yes?" She winced even as she said the word.

"All right."

They walked side-by-side out of the Great Hall, each taking slow-paced steps. Draco was so tall that she took two steps for every one that he took, but they had no problems with her falling behind. The awkwardness between them wasn't quite as pronounced as it had been during previous encounters, but Hermione couldn't help but remember how horrid it had felt asking him for a kiss, only to have him reject her.

It was difficult not to live in those memories.

Somehow, they found themselves wandering out to the bridge overlooking the ravine again. The sun was high in the sky already, and there wasn't a cloud in sight, but the temperature was mild and comfortable. The slight breeze that always seemed to sweep upward from the depths of the ravine seasoned the air around them with coolness.

But inside, Hermione's anxiety hadn't lowered even the slightest bit. It kept going and going, stretching out to the very tips of her toes and reaching all the way to the crown of her head. Time was passing so quickly, and she felt rushed.

She wasn't ready for the trial, but she was going to have to be.

They walked along the bridge, coming to a mutual silent agreement to lean against the wooden railing and gaze out at the scenery. Draco placed his elbows on it, but Hermione was too short. Her fingers curved onto the railing.

"Huh."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Draco pointed downward. "Look at the river. Looks really small from up here."

She rose up on tip-toe to look down at the river. It was so small from this high up that it looked like a tiny trickle of water. She wondered what sort of creatures lived down there, swimming to and fro, and she envied the freedom they had to live without anxiety.

"What do you normally do on Easter holiday?"

She looked over at him. "I . . . We used to go to church and then eat dinner together. My mother made ham. What do you do?"

"Wizarding stuff."

"Keep your secrets, then," she said.

"I will," he said.

Hermione's mouth quirked upward and when she looked up at him in query, she saw him smirking down at her. A gust of wind blew through, pushing a curl across her face.

"You always look at me so strangely," she said.

"Yeah?" His smile faded. "And what do I look at you like?"

She studied his face, hoping that his smile hadn't faltered due to annoyance. Because she knew exactly what he looked at her like. She could see it in his eyes every time he held her gaze. Sometimes, it was with curiosity. Sometimes, with anger. And in the Library, it had been with desire.

"Like I make you feel something."

His hand came up. Her heart leapt in her chest.

He brushed the curl on her face aside, his fingertips brushing against her skin as he tucked it behind her ear. He watched his own motions, as though she were his charge, and he was just ensuring she was taken care of.

"You say that like I don't feel things of my own volition."

"Do you?"

He drew his hand back and looked at her. "What do you think?"

Feeling emboldened, Hermione said, "I think you haven't felt anything real in a long, long time. And I think that scares you. And you know what else I think?"

He tilted his head to the side and waited.

"I think the reason why you got so angry after Harry talked to you was because you're scared. I think . . . I think you feel like there's something wrong with you, something that might need fixing. So, when Harry told you that that's what I was doing, it was easy for you to believe it. And I think that skives you off."

He stared at her for a long moment, a moment during which it took all of Hermione's strength and energy to mask the fact that she was having an extended panic attack. One that she'd been having for the entire day.

"And what, pray tell," he said, leaning on the railing again and turning his face to the ravine, "am I so scared of?"

"That something's wrong with you. Something that needs fixing."

"You know what skives me off, Granger?" He placed one hand on the railing and turned to face her. In the sudden anger that had materialized upon his face, he towered over her in a way that didn't make her feel safe. "The fact that you think you know _anything_ about me."

Her heart sank in her chest.

He glared at her for one second longer, and then stormed past her.

And Hermione could have let him walk away. She could have let the anger control him, and the shame control her, but something inside of her told her that she couldn't sit idle anymore. Not with the trial tomorrow.

He was the only person who knew what she was going through.

"I do know you." She spun around and raised her voice, dashing forward a few steps. "I _do_ know you, Draco! And I know that you're angry with me, in spite of the fact that Harry wrote to you."

He stopped walking.

She took another step toward him, wringing her hands in front of herself. Her heart was racing and she felt like she was floating in a sea of panic, but she couldn't stop now. She couldn't keep walking on eggshells around him, waiting for explanations and discussions.

"I don't want to fix you," she said. "You're not broken, and there's no reason for me to want to . . . To put pieces of you back together that aren't mine to gather. What Harry said to you - and I know you two already worked through this - wasn't right. It wasn't right and it wasn't true. I don't want to fix you _because_ I know you."

His hands curved into fists at his sides. He turned his head to the left, glowering at her over his shoulder. The breeze lifted several strands of his hair, pulling them forward against his head. He made no move to push them back.

"You can't possibly know me," he said, forcing the words out past clenched teeth, "if you think I'm anything other than broken."

Hermione started to reply, but he'd already made his decision.

He walked away.

O

Hermione endured a panic attack on the bridge.

The storm that had been raging inside of her, swirling and brewing for hours, reached its tipping point. Her lungs squeezed so tight that all she could do was gasp.

It was unavoidable.

She sat on the bridge with her back to the railing, clutching at her chest and crying.

Most of the reasons why she was crying had nothing to do with Draco, and everything to do with the fact that she was a little less than twenty-four hours away from having to look Sebastien Selwyn in the eyes again.

And it wouldn't be within the confines of a nightmare.

By the time she managed to ease her storm, she felt exhausted. She wanted to tip backwards over the bridge railing and fall forever. At least if she was falling, she wouldn't have to worry about standing on unsteady ground any longer.

She trudged back to the castle, deciding that it was probably best if she went to the Library. If she was going to try and destroy the well, she needed to look up an adequate spell that would be permanent.

That well wasn't going to be able to hurt anyone anymore.

In the Library, she searched through the entire Charms section, picking up books and flipping through them for charms that she could use. She couldn't use a typical destruction spell because over ninety percent of a well was situated underground. And she couldn't exactly cause an earthquake, so she needed to find a spell that she could use to cave it in from below.

As for the trial, her plan was to go to Headmistress McGonagall and ask to use the Floo before dinner. She'd go to her flat in London, which she'd purchased the previous Summer by exchanging her Order of Merlin galleons for Muggle currency at Gringotts, and then stay there for the duration of the trial.

Going with that plan, she had exactly three hours until lunchtime. That would be enough time for her to walk out to the place where it all began.

The well.

As she researched, she was powerless to stop her mind from wandering.

She understood why Draco was angry, for the most part, and she understood why someone who seemed as guarded as him would want to keep people at arm's-length. She understood how invasive it could feel, having people judge you when you felt like they couldn't possibly know who you were just by looking at you.

And she wondered: _did_ she know Draco? Did she know who he was, and who he wanted to be?

Maybe there was some truth to Harry's words. Maybe the only reason why she liked Draco was because he'd changed. Or maybe he hadn't changed at all.

Maybe he was just being himself.

And perhaps that was who she fancied.

In the book _Welsh Medieval Charms,_ Hermione found a charm that was used by farmers to dig wells. It was simple enough, and easy to modify by adding the Latin word for 'to crush' before it.

It would be quick.

Now, she'd go change from her trainers to boots for the walk through the forest. According to her watch, she had around two hours left to get to the well, practice the new spell, and close up the hole.

Once it was destroyed, maybe then she'd stop feeling so small.


	16. Chapter 16

**Small**

**Chapter Sixteen - Closure**

O

"Going somewhere?"

Hermione stopped in the enormous doorway that led out to the courtyard, a slight breeze rustling her hair from outside. She turned to look behind her.

Draco stood there, his hands in his pockets.

"Yes, I'm . . ." Hermione trailed off. If one of her theories was true - if Draco was just trying to be himself - then she could be more honest with him. "I'm going to the well."

His eyes widened a fraction, and then a dark look passed across his face. He took a step closer to her. "Why?"

"I'm going to close it up, so no one else can ever be hurt again. I'm using a modified digging charm that should - hopefully - be able to make it collapse from below."

"You say that as though you think someone's going to throw someone else down it," he said, and he took another step.

_Yeah, like me, if Sebastien gets acquitted._

"You never know," she said with a shrug. "I'll see you later."

"Wait."

She stopped.

"You can't go alone, Granger."

She didn't turn around. "You say that as though you think someone's going to follow me out there."

"You never know," he said. "I'm willing to wager you never thought someone would throw you down a well."

She whirled around to glare at him and was surprised to see him grinning. She relaxed, a measure of relief settling over her. The last time he'd smiled at her like that, they'd been friends.

"This is your idea of an apology, isn't it?"

He lifted one eyebrow. "Take it or leave it."

She pursed her lips, studying him with her head tilted back so she could look into his eyes. They'd had an argument, yes. He'd lost his temper, yes. But was she angry with him?

No.

In fact, she couldn't think of anything more comforting than having him by her side when she returned to the well.

"All right, you can accompany me," she said, turning on her feet. "But I only have two hours."

He jogged to catch up with her as they strolled across the courtyard.

"Two hours?" he said. "Why only two hours?"

"I have to come back in time for lunch. I'm asking McGonagall for permission to use her Floo. I'll be staying in London for the -"

"Oh, right. For the trial," he said.

They started down the hill, walking beside each other in silence.

"Where are you staying?" he asked as they passed Hagrid's hut. "In Diagon Alley?"

"No, I have a flat, actually," Hermione replied. "I purchased it this Summer. I'm going to go to university after graduation."

"Uni-what?"

She felt heat rising to her cheeks. She'd forgotten that university was a Muggle thing.

"University is the next level of schooling for Muggles. They go to primary school, then secondary school, and then on to university," she explained.

"How can you go to Muggle uni - universary if you never went to Muggle school?" he asked, scratching the back of his head with a puzzled facial expression.

"University," she said, correcting him with a small laugh, "and because I had a special tutor over the Summer, and I did packets and homework throughout the Hogwarts year. Then, I mailed them to my parents so they could turn them in to the local school. That school was under the impression that I was gravely ill and could never leave my bedroom, which is why they allowed this."

"Pack -"

"Packets of paper. It's hard to explain. Think of it as a stack of essays from all of our professors, every two weeks."

Silence stretched between them as they walked further down the hill, and then Draco spoke.

"You went to school twice . . . At the same time?"

"Erm - essentially?"

He burst out an incredulous laugh, turning so he could walk backwards in front of her. He stopped walking, forcing her to have to stop, too.

"You offer me no surprises, do you?" he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Hermione Granger, Queen of Swots, went to school twice. I should have expected nothing less. What in Salazar's name do you plan to do for a career?"

Hermione gave him a look. "I want to work with magical creatures. But the university I'm attending has a veterinary -" She stopped herself, realizing that he wouldn't know that word, either. "- a program where I can work with animals. I want to take that program so I have the most knowledge I possibly can. And what's _that_ facial expression for?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, smirking. "You're just exactly who I thought you'd be."

"Hm. Well." She shrugged and walked past him. "Thank you for having me in your thoughts."

"I didn't say they were good thoughts." He fell in-step beside her.

"So, if you had bad thoughts about me," she said as they neared the Shrieking Shack, "then why are you here?"

"Sometimes bad can be good," he said, the tenor of his voice sending a chill down her spine. "Really, _really_ good."

She found that it was more difficult to speak than normal after that.

They entered Hogsmeade and went to the left. The townspeople were out and about, even on Easter, but they continued forward between buildings.

The edge of the woods loomed.

"So, how far in is it?" Draco asked. "A mile? Two?"

_"You chose the right side, yet you're still going to die. How does it feel to be right and still lose?"_

Hermione hesitated where the cobblestones stopped and the dirt began.

" _All I feel is hatred. I despise you, Hermione Granger, and I don't think I'm ever going to let go of that."_

"How far is it, Granger?"

Hermione began to tremble.

She didn't know if she could do this.

_"I found a nice place for you to die."_

"Granger!" Draco walked back to stand in front of her, bending his legs until their eyes met. "Are you all right? You're breathing strange again."

" _It's cold, too, so you won't have to wait long. I promise."_

"I can't," she whispered, seeing her fearful face reflecting in his glassy eyes. "I can't do it."

Draco looked confused for a moment. ". . . Oh. Oh, uh -" He stood up straight, glancing around at the people walking nearby. "Come over here."

He wrapped an arm around her, leading her off to the left to stand near the wall of the gatehouse. He faced her, but she felt like she was seeing through a fog.

" _You're no Golden Girl. You're just a small, scared little girl. And just like my father, you'll die in a cell where no one can hear you, with nothing but the stars to look at."_

She could hear Sebastien's voice in her head, reminding her that no matter how much she tried to move past the darkness and that small circle of stars, she would always live in fear of the dark.

"Granger, just breathe slowly," Draco murmured. His hand slid up and down her arm, a constant pressure that soothed her. "Breathe, okay? You're not doing this alone."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, gasping. "I can't do it at all."

"Yes, you can. Hey - Granger. _Look at me_."

Her eyes snapped open. He cupped her face in his hands and held her gaze with sincerity and purpose. The beat of her heart began to stutter.

"You're strong. You can _do_ this," he said. "It's just a well, isn't it, then?"

"It's just a well," she breathed.

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's just a well. Just a hole in the ground. And it's destructible."

The rapid pace of her breathing began to slow. "It's destructible."

He smiled, and it was the smile she liked best. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones. "And you're gonna destroy it."

"Yeah," she said, and her lips split into a smile, too. "I can do this."

"There," he said, and he stepped back from her. He combed his fingers through his hair. "Now, come on. You said we're on a time limit."

They both turned to face the woods, which looked ominous to her. The pine trees, though spread out, lended to an altogether dark atmosphere. They seemed to block out the Spring morning light. Somewhere deep within them, she knew the well awaited.

"Here," Draco said, and he held his hand out beside him. "Take my hand."

She did so, looking up at him with wide eyes. He laced their fingers together and, without looking at her, pulled her into the woods.

They began to walk, and Hermione made sure not to stray too far from his side. It was much easier to keep one foot moving in front of the other with the feeling of his fingers twined around her own.

Her mind spun.

Draco was a master at the game of hot and cold, and she wasn't sure what to think of any of this. If she went by Pansy's logic, he was acting exactly the way guys who liked "hook-ups" acted: simultaneously aloof and affectionate. She couldn't exactly be upset with him for fitting into a mold.

But it was difficult when it felt what was between them was so much more than a hook-up.

It took them thirty minutes of brisk walking to get to the well. When they reached it, Hermione felt her hand tightening in Draco's. They were deep within a copse of trees that blocked out a large majority of the sunlight, making it feel like it was much later in the day. The way the well loomed up out of the ground added to the overall somber, eerie ambiance of the quiet area. The stones were so dark they were almost black.

She remembered what it felt like to sit on them, to kick and plead and grab for Sebastien's body in a shameful attempt to stay above ground.

"What's the spell?" Draco's voice cut into her nightmarish reverie.

Hermione told him the words in a shaky tone, and then withdrew her wand. He asked if she wanted help, and she told him no.

This was her task to complete.

She attempted the spell, her wand trembling in her grip, and she felt nothing. No rush of magic, no tingling in her fingers. A frown pulled the corners of her mouth downward.

Another attempt was a failure, followed by a third. She tried changing up her stance, changing her accent, and adjusting the inflection of the syllables. Nothing happened.

Draco watched the entire performance with his arms crossed and a deep furrow in his brow. By the time she failed a fifth attempt, he raised two fingers to stop her.

"What book is this spell from?" he asked.

" _Welsh Medieval Charms,"_ she answered, frustration hanging her off of a cliff of irritation. "And it's modified. It was a spell for digging, but I modified it to hopefulyl be able to collapse the hole."

His brows pulled together. "Tell me what the words are again?"

She did.

"Hm," he said. "I think I know what the problem is."

"What?"

"It's Welsh. The wording of the spell. I think it's not working because you used a Latin modifier."

"No, it - I couldn't possibly - I can _speak_ Latin, Draco. I would have noticed that it was - that it wasn't Latin."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Looks like you're not the queen, then. Perhaps just the princess."

She scoffed, feeling offended, but he cut her off before she could speak.

"Here, try this wording instead." He spoke a couple of words to her that were, as she assumed, in Welsh. "And before you ask, yes, I can speak Welsh. I can speak a lot of languages. Perks of being Pureblood, and a Seventh Year spent hiding in the Manor like the coward I am."

She blinked at his joke, and then aimed her wand. With a deep breath, she cast the spell. The magic rushed through her, warm and tingling, and she heard a faint rumbling. This was it. The well was -

Nothing happened.

"Why didn't it work?" she asked, pouting. She just wanted to go back to the castle. She wanted to go home to her flat.

Silence prevailed for a moment, and then Draco snapped his fingers.

"You can't move mountains on your own, Granger," he said, giving her a fierce grin as he pulled his wand out of the sleeve of his button-up. "Together?"

Hermione's cheeks grew warm. She gave him a nod, and then together, they faced the well. He was left-handed, whereas she was right, so when he held onto her hand between them, it came as a welcome surprise.

They spoke the spell.

The rumbling was loud, and beneath their feet, the ground began to quake. Hermione stumbled, but Draco's hand squeezed hers and held her steady. They kept their wands pointed, holding the spell as the well began to crumble.

The stones fell inward, towards the gaping hole that held all of her fears. The noise grew even louder as all of the rocks went down. The thunder went on for a few more moments, and then shuddered to a stop.

Where the well once stood, there was now only smooth Earth.

Hermione felt a tear slipping down her cheek, and Draco turned to look at her with concern. She didn't care. This closure wasn't for him, or for the two of them and their bizarre romantic saga.

It was for her.

"Are you -"

"At the beginning of this school year, I was so focused on being the best, that I lost sight of what it means to be me," she said, cutting him off. Her gaze never left the place where her fears were now buried. "I've spent the majority of the year acting like a lovesick puppy, doing embarrassing things that I _never_ would have done when I was younger. I've felt so lost and confused, and completely out-of-character."

Draco watched her, but said nothing.

He didn't let go of her hand.

"But now I realize," she continued, looking up at him, "that you can't possibly know if you're acting out-of-character . . . When you haven't the slightest clue who you are."

Draco glanced back at the now-empty ground, and then back down at her.

"So, how about now?" he said. "Do you know who you are now?"

She stared at the dirt, too, lost in temporary thought.

Who _was_ Hermione Granger? Was she the rule-following, inquisitive, over-achiever who went to school twice so she could take care of magical creatures? Or was she the insecure, nervous girl with a crush, who spent weeks doing silly, embarrassing things to try to catch his attention? A guy who hadn't wanted to give her a kiss at her common room door?

Now that the well was gone, taking whoever she was when she was inside of it with it, who was left? Was she the girl who filled her head with knowledge so she could fill up every space she occupied?

Or the girl who shrunk herself down and let someone else take care of her when she was feeling scared?

Did she know who she was now?

"Not yet." She lowered her gaze to his chest, which was at eye-level. "And sometimes, I want to know more than anything, because then it might make everything make sense. Maybe if I knew who I was, I'd know what my weakness is, and how Sebastien Selwyn figured it out. He made me vulnerable, and so I wish I knew who I was."

"Why?"

"So I can figure out how he made me so weak."

Draco's thumb stroked across the back of her hand in an absentminded manner. He averted his eyes to the left, the fact that he was thinking about something visible upon his face. When he spoke, it was with a voice softer than the Spring breeze.

"How can you know who _I_ am, if you don't even know who _you_ are?"

A series of memories flashed before her mind's eyes.

Sebastien's words, _"Your personal Death Eater tried to tell me he was going to slit my throat."_

The sight of Draco being so consumed by rage that he slammed Sebastien's head into the stone ground repeatedly.

The fact that Draco helped her with her panic attacks, stroked her scar, and came with her to be with her through the destruction of the well.

_"It's a good thing you thought to look for me. I hate to think . . . What - what would you have done if you hadn't found me?"_

_"Burned the woods down."_

Hermione looked up at him, directly in the silver of his eyes.

"I can see the outline of your heart painted in your actions, Draco," she said. "I don't know who _I_ am because even though I fought in the war, my only challenge was to stay on the side of light. I know who _you_ are because even though you fought for the side of dark, I watched you choose the light. Again, and again, and again - you chose the light. That's why I know who you are. Because I see your character, and you're not the villain."

He was quiet, his eyes searching her own. Then, slowly, he held their clasped hands to his chest. The expression on his face was once again troubled.

"I think I know . . Who you are," he said. "You're intelligent, compassionate, and brave. You have a laugh that sounds like music, and your eyes are the color of autumn leaves. You're exactly who you're meant to be, and you've never tried to be anything other than yourself. And that's why I owe you a better apology than saying 'take it or leave it.'"

Hermione's throat ached. She hoped the shadows of the trees hid the fact that her eyes were full to the brim with tears.

Her heart was too full.

"So . . . I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry for everything. For the way I treated you, and for the way I treated your friends. I'm sorry for being a complete tosser for the past seven years, and I'm sorry I haven't treated you the way you deserve to be treated. I'm sorry I didn't walk you back to the castle on Valentine's, and I'm _really_ sorry I didn't kill Selwyn. But mostly? I'm eternally fucking sorry that I was a coward at the Manor, the day you got that scar."

"Draco . . ." A tear fell.

"I think . . . I think we both want to figure out who we _want_ to be," Draco said, looking down at their hands. His fringe fell forward, into his eyes. "I think we're both trying to grow up as fast as the war wanted us to, when we should work on accepting ourselves exactly the way we are. The way we see each other."

Hermione smiled up at him, her heart swelling so full that she feared it might burst.

"Then perhaps, a reintroduction is in order?" she said.

She let go of his hand and took a step back. She stretched her arm out, presenting him her hand the way he'd done for Harry in their First Year.

"I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm the Queen of Swots."

Draco laughed and gripped her hand, giving it a firm shake.

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy," he said. "And I'm the King of Prats."

"Then I guess we're right royalty, aren't we?"

The two of them fell into peals of laughter, turning together as one and starting to walk back towards the town. As they did, Hermione felt like she might never stop smiling.

Perhaps it had been more than a hook-up for him after all.

"So, where are you staying?" she asked after their laughter had faded.

"For the trial?" He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I think I'll stay at an Inn in Knockturn Alley."

Surprised, she said, "Not your home? Surely, your mother wants to see you?"

"My mother doesn't live in the Manor anymore, either. She lives in Denmark now."

Hermione knew where that was. It was located across the North Sea. The sea which held Azkaban.

Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban.

"The Manor's empty," she said, in awe.

"Yes," he replied. "And there was no place for her in British wizarding society any longer. So we relocated the contents of the Manor to an estate in Denmark, and that's where she's planning to stay."

They walked for a few more yards, the silence growing tense.

Hermione had no clue if this was a good idea, but the thought of him - of _anyone_ lodging in Knockturn Alley made her feel such an intense worry that it twisted her stomach in knots.

"Well," she said, "you could stay with me?"

He coughed and his hand twitched in her own. "You mean . . . With you? In your flat?"

"Yes. It's in Muggle London, but it's charmed to let no sound out. So, we can Apparate to the telephone box to get to the trial."

"Hm. I'll think about it."

In the quiet that followed her statement, she couldn't help but have hope. If he came to her flat, then they'd be completely alone together. No school, no wizarding world surrounding them with any pressure, and a chance to see if there was truly something between them.

Anything could happen.

"You could always take me to the empty Manor," she joked to ease the tension a bit.

"Are you mental?" His head whipped down to look at her. "I would never take you there, you nutter. I want you _safe,_ not in a giant representation of the bloody well we just _destroyed_."

She hadn't noticed that he'd stopped walking until she felt a tug on her hand. It caused her to turn to face him. The look on his face was intense in its level of seriousness.

"Do you hear me, Granger? I will _never_ bring you to the Manor. I want you to be _safe_. We'll go to your flat."

With one last lingering look, he walked ahead of her, pulling her along behind him. He held her hand the entire walk back to the castle, and didn't let go until they were in the hallway to McGonagall's office.


	17. Chapter 17

**Small**

**Chapter Seventeen - Pink**

O

After using the Floo in Headmistress McGonagall's office, they'd gone to an old wizarding Floo station in Muggle London.

Hermione had taken Draco on the subway. He'd been so tall that anyone who was on the train car with them saw fit to stare at him. And anyone who stared at him stared at her.

She was grateful that he was at least wearing trousers and a button-up, and not wizarding robes.

When they got off the subway and ascended the stairs to the street Hermione lived on, she'd watched him look around at the city in awe.

"Haven't you ever been to London?" she'd asked.

"Outside of wizarding streets?" he'd said, having to shout over the raucous sounds of the cars and people. His hair glinted in the sunlight and his eyes sparkled with the same light that Hermione had in hers the first time she saw the streets of London. "Never."

"Do you like it?" she'd said, taking his arm and moving them out of the way of the stairway exit.

"Yeah," he said, his gaze bouncing from buildings to people to cars to streetlights to signs. "I think I do."

After that, she'd led him to the tall building that housed her flat, discreetly used her wand to open the doors, and they got into the lift. The soft instrumental music was familiar, bringing a smile to Hermione's face as she pressed the button for the 30th floor.

He'd looked at her in alarm when the elevator started to move up. "Are there no straps?!"

She'd giggled at that. "Draco. This is a Muggle elevator, and they go up at a gentle pace. They don't go whooping around corners and down into the pits of Hell."

" _Fuck_ me, Granger." He'd tilted his head back, holding a hand to his heart. "I thought I was about to die."

Hermione's cheeks had flared with heat at that.

"You're so dramatic," she'd said, because they were the only words she could manage.

Hermione dropped her wand on the kitchen counter and then turned to face the rest of the flat. She wasn't sure how Draco was going to take it, him being a Pureblood who grew up in a manor, but she supposed she was going to find out.

Outside the multi-story building, she could hear the familiar sound of cars zooming past. She loved the city. In the city, she didn't have to be the Golden Girl, or the Girls Who Won the War. She could be anyone she wanted. It was the only place she felt _happy_ to feel small.

"Well, this is home, I guess," she said.

"I can see that," he said in a conversational tone.

She watched Draco wander around her living room, looking quite the sight as his tall form filled much more of it than she did. He was peering at the books on her bookshelf, as well as the pictures on the wall shelves. Half of them were stationary photos of her parents and Muggle friends from childhood; the other half were moving photos of her wizarding friends.

"You have Muggle friends?" he said, apparently putting the pieces together. "How do you manage that with school?"

"Oh, I can manage," Hermione said, laughing. "I used to tell them I went to school in Japan, and then came home for the Summer."

His lips quirked and he looked closer at a picture of Hermione's blonde friend Mandy from Hampstead. "Went to school twice, and even in Japan. And what did they think of the fact that you were doing schoolwork year-round, then?"

"I think everyone's used to it by now. It's not just wizards who know I'm the queen."

He looked at her and laughed, and then moved to stand in front of her telly. His hands slipped into his pockets and he tilted his head from left to right.

"And this . . . ?"

"It's my telly," Hermione said. "We can watch shows or movies on it. I have a VCR, and we can watch tapes on it."

He said nothing.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said. "I'll show you later."

She was having a hard time trying to remember that this wasn't a sleepover with a girlfriend. This was Draco Malfoy, and when she took a step outside of the picture of her life, he was a very important Pureblood wizard. Just having him standing in her living room, she could see he took up a lot of space, and he didn't mind. He simply commanded any space he occupied.

Draco walked over to the living room window and pulled the curtains open at the center. The large window exposed Hermione's favorite part of living in this flat, the sunlight across the city reminding her why she loved London. Seeing the buildings stretching out for miles, and the clocktower in the distance was worth it.

She left the kitchen and went to stand beside him, crossing her arms.

"Well, at least you have an expensive view," he said.

"I won a war, Draco," she said, trying to hide a smile. "The least I could do was spring for a view."

They looked at each other, smiles spreading across their faces as they laughed.

His gaze studied her face for a moment and then he said, "So, is this the whole flat?"

"Oh! No, there's a bedroom and a loo. Here, come with me."

The short hallway had always felt normal to Hermione but now, with Draco looming behind her to watch her open the door to the bathroom for him to look at, she felt like it was cramped. He wore this ridiculous cologne that smelled _Godly_ , and he didn't seem to understand personal space. She was standing in the doorway of the loo and he had one arm stretched up to rest his hand against the door frame.

"It's so small," he said, and the rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y-Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "Muggles have normal-sized loos."

"Hah," he said. "Mine's about five times the size of this, so . . ."

Hermione reached behind her to smack him, catching him on the hip. He laughed and she felt the hand of his that wasn't on the frame coming to rest on her shoulder. She leaned back slightly, feeling the warmth of his chest against the back of her head.

She shivered again.

"So . . . Pink, huh? I didn't take you to be a girl who liked that color," he said, referring to the pink color of her bathroom decor.

"What did you think I liked? _Orange?"_ She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to turn around and face him. "I'm a feminine witch, you git."

"More like maroon and gold," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "But I have learned that everything I thought about you was wrong."

"Of course it was," she said. "Now, why don't we head out and get some food?"

"Food? Aren't you gonna show me the bedroom?"

"What?" Hermione turned and quickly ducked under his outstretched arm. "Why would I show you my bedroom?"

"Because I'm _sleeping_ in it, aren't I?"

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat and she whirled around to glare at him. "And where am I supposed to sleep? On the _couch_?"

"Well, _I_ can't!" he cried. "I haven't slept on anything less than a King size since I was seven!"

Her anger rose. "If you think I'm treating you like royalty in my own bloody flat, you're mental. You're not taking my bed."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and they both inhaled through their nostrils.

"At least let me look at it."

Hermione pulled a face. "What? Let you _look_ at -"

"Yes, because I may not even _want_ to sleep on it." He ran his fingers through his hair and raised his eyebrows. "I can sacrifice size, but comfort? Ehhh, I dunno."

Hermione's jaw dropped. With a scoff, she turned and pushed her bedroom door open.

"Here it is, _Your Majesty_ ," she said. He was behind her, so she allowed herself to sneer.

They gazed into her room, which was just as pink as her bathroom was, and Draco began to laugh. He pushed past her and stood in the center of the room. He looked at her dresser, which was white with pink handles made of plastic. Then, he looked at her pink bookshelf, lined with books of all sizes and colors. He turned and looked at her bed, which was adorned in numerous fleece blankets in varying shades of pink, then at the pink gauze canopy hanging from her ceiling to drape around the bed. Her curtain, pink as rose quartz, and then the paintings and posters on the walls.

He clutched his stomach and laughed harder.

"What?!" Hermione cried, offended. " _What?!"_

"It's _so_ Muggle," he choked out between laughs. "I have _never_ seen a more Muggle room than . . . Whatever this is."

"So, what's the problem, then?!" Hermione balled her hands into fists and took a step toward him. Her face was hot with rage, and her teeth clenched together. "Stop teasing me!"

" _Nothing_. Fuck, Granger. It's cute, okay?" He threw his hands up. "I think it's cute."

"Oh, and I'm to believe you find it _endearing_ that I'm so _droll_ at Hogwarts, but such a _girly-girl_ at home?"

He laughed again and said, "Yes."

At that, Hermione's head drew back on her shoulders. She willed the wild pace of her heart to still. As much of a prat as he was, he could disarm her with one well-placed compliment, all without the slightest hint of a blush. It infuriated her as much as it flattered her, but most of all?

She was confused.

Did he fancy her, or not?

"Well," she said, clearing her throat. "If that's a compliment, I suppose I should be grateful."

"Perhaps it was," he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed and leaning back on his hands. His lips quirked upward. "Though, when I give compliments, I prefer to just say the words."

Her heart sank just a smidge inside of her chest, so she crossed her arms as if to hide it from him. "I guess it was too much to expect from the King of Prats."

"No, it wasn't," he said, tilting his head to the side. His gaze dragged up and down her body. "I just prefer not to mince my words when I give them."

Hermione felt an awkward anxiety expanding in her chest. Had she just begged for a compliment from him, and not realized she'd done it?

"That makes perfect sense to me," she said, her voice tremulous as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "I find it means a lot less when it's asked for, or - or begged for. And you're the type of person who means what he says. You don't say much, and when you do, it means something."

Draco gave her a strange look and then grinned. "Granger?"

"Yes?"

"You're cute."

If she wasn't blushing before, she was now.

Feeling flustered, she turned and wandered over to her dresser, conscious of the fact that the room was on the smaller side. Draco's legs were so long while sitting down that his knee brushed the lower part of her thigh as she walked past. She tried to ignore the fact that only one part of her leg felt like it was burning, knelt, and rummaged through the middle dresser for something to wear.

She felt his eyes burning into her.

"So, now that you've seen it," she said, "do you want it?"

"Yes."

A tension began to stretch throughout the room. Hermione's hands paused in their rummaging and she swallowed. Heart pounding, she turned her head to glance up at him. He was still leaning back on his hands, looking down at her, but something in his face had changed. Shifted, like the changing tides in an active sea.

He looked at her like she was frozen in ice, and his gaze was made of fire.

Her skin prickled.

"I mean, do you want the bed?" she said in a weak voice, refocusing her attention on rummaging. "I supposed the couch could . . . I could always charm it to be bigger, and I don't mind -"

"No, Granger," he said, the tenor of his voice tinged with amusement. "I can take the couch. It's fine."

Hermione snatched up a checkered dress and stood up. "Are you certain? You seemed so against it earlier."

He glanced around her room again and laughed. "I think I'll be okay if I don't sleep in here. What is this, a twin?"

"It's a full, you arsehole," she said, putting the hand that wasn't holding the dress on her hip.

"Either way, I'm 190cm, Granger. I'm _as tall_ as this bed."

"It could be charmed," she said with a grimace.

"Are you hearing yourself? You just fought me for the right to _keep_ your bed, and now you're trying to convince me to take it?"

Oh.

Mortification growing and cheeks as hot as the Sun, Hermione hurried to change the subject.

"I'm hungry, so I'm gonna change so we can go to the grocer's."

"Why would you need to change?" he asked.

"This area isn't exactly _posh_ , but it's on the trendier side," she said. "I may be a witch, and I may _not_ be Pansy Parkinson, but I know how to dress when I'm in London. Are you gonna leave the room?"

"Why?" he shot back. "I've already seen your -"

" _Malfoy_!" she cried, her cheeks flaring with an immense heat as his grin dazzled her. "Just get out of here so I can change!"

He didn't budge.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and dropped the dress on top of the dresser. She grabbed the hem of her jumper and started to lift it. Draco arched one eyebrow. She arched one, too. Time stood still.

"Take it off," he said, and suddenly, his grin went from dazzling to Devilish.

Hermione's gaze slid past him, to her pillows, and then a wicked idea crossed her mind. She let go of her jumper hem, ignoring the glint of dismay in his eyes, and reached past him. She grabbed one of her pillows.

"What is that for?" he said. "What, you're gonna suffocate me because I won't leave?"

"No," she said, and her own smile went from ear-to-ear. "I'm gonna see if you can rise to the challenge."

"The what?"

She clutched the edges of the pillow and wriggled her brows. "If you win, I'll change in front of you. If I win, then you have to leave the room."

Draco's confusion intensified. "Win? Win wh -"

She smacked him with the pillow. He let out an _oof_ noise and fell backward, but Hermione did not stop there. She began hitting him with the pillow again and again, giggling when he began to laugh.

"Okay, okay, fine!" he called, reaching for another pink pillow with one hand while trying to fend her off with the other. "But you asked for it."

Hermione shrieked and turned right as he took both hands, wielded the pillow, and smacked it against her body. It was soft against her side, but forceful enough to make her stumble. Whether it was because he was tall or she was small, she had yet to discern.

The fight began.

Around and around the room they went, shrieking and laughing and yelling, striking each other with the pillows. Nothing was off limits: faces, arms, legs, rear ends, the backs of their knees, the backs of their heads, their actual backs . . . And the feathers. Merlin, the _feathers_. They floated around the room, dusting the carpets in white.

Eventually, the pillows were so useless and de-feathered that it became a fabric fight. Hermione was the first to drop her pillowcase. She cried out in delight and elation as Draco twisted his and began to smack her rear end with it repeatedly.

He chased her across the room, the fabric slapping her until she jumped up to stand on her bed. Never before had she been so grateful for Madam Pomfrey's medicine. If it weren't such an addictive potion, she'd never stop taking it.

Hermione grinned down at him.

"I think this means I win," she said, breathless.

He panted and pushed his fingers through his feather-covered hair. "No, you dropped yours first. That means _I_ win."

"Mm, nope." Hermione giggled again, moving out of the way as he tried to slap the side of her leg. "Stop! _Stop_ , you foul _git_! Seriously!"

"Get down from there," he said, finally tossing aside his pillowcase. His grin was ferocious.

"Nope." She put her hands on her hips and tried to force a stern look past her smile. "I'm staying up here. You're too . . . Handsy."

"I'll come up there," he warned, and there was a light dancing in his eyes that she'd never seen before, "and I'll show you how handsy I can be."

She leaned down, lifted one hand, and touched the tip of his nose. "No."

His eyes flashed and then, before Hermione knew what had happened, his hands were at her waist.

Tickling her.

Shrieking like a banshee, she collapsed in a fit of giggles and kicking legs. The moment her back hit the mattress, he was straddling one of her thighs, his wiggling fingers whispering their torment into her flesh.

Hermione had no idea how he knew she was ticklish, but she didn't have the energy to think about it. She could hardly breathe, her bladder was screaming at her, and all of her focus was entrenched in trying to push his hands away from her.

Suddenly, he stopped and placed his hands flat on the bed beside her head. He hovered over her on all fours, smirking.

"What was that you said?" he murmured. "No?"

"Yes, I said _no_!" she said, still catching her breath and laughing. Exhausted, her hands also rested by her head, her fingers brushing against his. She studied his face for a moment, finding that she rather liked the way he looked when he was flushed and out of breath, too.

"Hmm," he said, searching her eyes. "I don't think I speak that language . . ."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, you'd _better_ speak that language. Because if I say no, it means no."

"Do you really think that if you genuinely said no, I wouldn't listen?"

She opened her mouth, then paused. There was a seriousness in his eyes. A seriousness that took the ski-high mood and mellowed it as quickly as morning fog settled to the ground in the late mornings.

There was once a time where she would have said yes. There was once a time where she would have looked at Draco Malfoy and said, _That is a bad, bad guy._ A time where she would have done anything to avoid him, or duel him. Whichever one served a greater purpose. A time where Draco was the type to stand and watch her be cursed with fear in his eyes, instead of the type to break his parole to rescue her from the dark.

Which is why what Harry said in his letter was so important. Draco _had_ changed, and he'd done it all on his own because he _wanted_ to. Not because of his parole, and not because he wanted anyone to praise him for it. He'd kept to himself all year and worked on himself for his own sake.

Hooking up with witches - even hooking up with Romilda - didn't mean he was a bad wizard, or a bad person. It just meant he was a guy.

But inside, he was a different person. She could tell.

Sebastien was the one who hadn't listened to her when she said no. Draco wasn't like that.

Draco was just a young man who didn't quite know how to read minds and perhaps if he knew the truth, he wouldn't have thought the worst of her when Harry said he needed to be fixed. So it stood to reason that if she simply told him the truth, if he was only angry about the misunderstanding, then all of their problems could be solved.

She hoped that's all there was to it.

"I like you," she whispered, already feeling the blush coming to the apples of her cheeks. She wanted to avert her eyes, but the way he was looking at her, she felt like she was being sucked into the well again. "A lot. A lot more than is healthy, actually. And if there's one person I trust to listen to me if I told you no during a situation like that . . . It would be you."

His eyes widened a fraction, but she clenched her hands by her head and kept talking.

"That's provided we're - we're talking about the same situation. Because if we were - and I mean this hypothetically - if we were to hook up again, I think if I were to say no at any time, you would stop. I don't know why I think that, but you just seem - you seem like a really caring person and I just . . . Oh, I sound so stupid. I -"

"You don't sound stupid," he breathed, his eyes darting back and forth between her lips. "You don't sound stupid at all."

And then he kissed her.

Hermione came alive like a blooming flower, sliding her fingers into his hair and meeting the strokes of his tongue with all the force of a raging hurricane. He was tentative compared to her, but she didn't care. She'd just confessed her feeling to him, and now she was kissing him and even though it wasn't their first kiss, it still made her stomach turn and flip with all the exhilaration of a long fall.

She snogged the living daylights out of him, hooking the leg that he wasn't straddling around the back of his thigh. She slid her foot along the softness of his trousers, rolling her hips upward to meet his. There was a strong need within her to be as close as possible to him lest he float away and disappear from the ceiling of the flat like a cloud.

He groaned into her mouth, tilting his head to the side so that he could kiss her like her mouth was bottomless. It felt like he was digging deep within her, excavating her desire and pulling it up to devour it. He kissed her like it sustained him, the mouths pulling apart and meeting again with urgency.

He kissed her like he liked her, too.

Reaching for the hem of her jumper, he propped himself with one hand and slipped his other hand beneath the fabric. His thumb pressed into her hipbone, massaging gentle circles in tune to the tempo of the impurity of his kiss. It pulled a gasp out of her throat to brush against his lips, which he swallowed with all the hunger of a ravenous beast.

A pulse of electricity jolted through her womb. Her eyes snapped open to meet his as he continued his ministrations, the circles getting firmer. She furrowed her brow and tried to convey in the silence that she was _not_ saying no.

She wanted him to touch her.

Hermione scooted across the mattress a bit, never removing her eyes from his as she did so. an agreement passing between them in the silence, his hand slid downward toward the hem of her leggings. She scooted up again, allowing a plea to enter the slope of her knitted brows.

Still, he froze.

"Are you saying no?" he whispered.

She shook her head and stammered, "I'm s-saying yes."

He lifted his chin and looked down at her through his lashes as he curved his hand along her pelvis, touching her at the center of her knickers. The effect was immediate. He exhaled as though he'd been holding his breath, and Hermione was powerless to stop a small sigh from freeing itself from within her throat.

This felt different from the Library, where they'd argued and exploded like a volcanic eruption. It felt less overwhelming. Oh, it was still a lot to take in and her thighs trembled like willow branches in the wind, but the fact that they hadn't argued right beforehand made it feel more . . .

Real.

Draco dipped his head down to pull the lobe of her ear between his teeth, and she moaned behind closed lips.

"You can be as loud as you want, can't you?" His voice was nary more than a breath.

"Well, y-yes," she choked out as he continued to touch her above the fabric. "It's my house."

"Hm." He chuckled and then pressed a light kiss to the spot beneath her ear. She nearly cried out. "Yours, you say?"

"I mean, _yeah_ ," she said, and she had to laugh.

"And this?"

"And what?"

" _This_ -" He slipped his fingers past the crotch of her knickers and ran them through her arousal, sending a jolt through her body and stars exploding behind her eyes. "- is mine?"

In a daze, Hermione could only lay there as he repeated the movement over and over. She knew he was watching her face, but she didn't care. Her mind was spinning out of orbit, into galaxies that he'd created just for her to exist in. She remembered her last experience with Ron, and how horrid it had felt.

This was nothing like that.

"Granger," he said in a low, sing-song tone as his fingers toyed with her. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I hea - _ah_!"

His fingers had slipped inside the velvet smoothness of her body.

"Mine," he whispered into her ear, and it sent chills rolling down to the fire he'd ignited between her loins.

Her fingers brushed against his again and he twined them together. She held them tight to compensate for how hard her legs were shaking and how sudden her nervousness was. Her other hand clenched in the fleece of her blanket by her hip. She gritted her teeth and let her eyelids flutter shut.

Every movement he made was slow and steady. Tender and gentle, like he cared about every part of her body and wanted to treat it that way. She felt him reaching deep inside her, twisting and curling his fingers, pressing in a crevice that he'd only just made known to her the first time they'd hooked up. A place that made her stomach twist so tight that it hurt.

Then, just like the night in the Library, slow became fast, and she was no longer quiet.

"Why aren't you wearing _my_ jumper?" he growled. "Huh? Whose is this?"

Confused, Hermione choked out, "Wh-What? It's m-my own!"

"Then what -" He withdrew his fingers from inside of her and began to touch her at the apex of her womanhood, ripping the breath out of her lungs and pulling her knees into the air. Her head scraped against the blankets as her back arched off of the mattress. "- was the point of me giving you _mine_?"

" _Why_ -" she said in a breathy voice, her eyes rolling up into her head. "- are you so _controlling_?"

He paused.

Without missing a beat in the pace of his hand, he lifted his leg to free hers, moving between her thighs. She was forced to spread them wider to accommodate him, but she didn't seem to care about the lewdness of being touched like this in a bedroom embarrassingly-draped in pink decor.

There was no time for her to question anything that was going on.

He pressed down on her pelvis with one hand and sunk two fingers of the other hand back into her body. A half-second passed by where their eyes met and he smirked, and then she was hurtling through the cosmos.

His fingers rammed in and out of her body at the speed of lightning, and she couldn't breathe. It was the mirror image of one of her achingly-familiar panic attacks, but without the negative haze that surrounded her when they occurred.

And it felt _good_.

Since it was her flat and her sanity had completely flown the coop, she allowed the moans that flew out of her mouth be loud enough to mortify her. She opened her eyes briefly, seeing him looming over her, nearly covering her body with his sheer size, and she felt completely ensconced by him. It sent an extra wave of pleasure coursing through her body.

It was getting closer.

"Because," Draco said, watching his actions as though he weren't dragging her body up to the heights of the universe with just his fingers, "I like when things go my way. And right now, I wanna see you come."

He moved his other hand to her core, gathered her wetness, and used it to grant himself easy passage across her pearl. Back and forth, up and down, in and out. The sensations were so much. She felt her body starting to tense up.

"Draco," she whimpered, her eyes squeezing shut tighter. She knew she probably looked pained, but he didn't seem to mind. "Draco, I'm so - so c-close . . ."

"Relax," he said, his voice husky and stuttered. " _Fuck_ \- just relax. Please."

She did, and immediately felt herself careening towards the edges of space and time. She choked on the air again, her hands flying to wrap around his forearm as if she couldn't decide if she wanted him to stop or go faster. She canted her hips forward to meet the thrusts of his hands, disregarding how wanton she must have looked.

" _Fucking_ Hell," he groaned, and then he moved backwards, dropping to the floor on his knees and dragging her with him.

Hermione yelped as he yanked her bottom to the edge of the mattress. She started to sit up. What was he doing?

He gave her one smoldering look before he wrenched her legs apart, pulled aside her knickers, and ravaged her.

And she was falling backward again.

Her back arched like a bow, up and away from the mattress as a scream left her lips. She cried the words _please_ and _gentler_ repeatedly, her voice hoarse and desperate. Her eyes flew open, viewing her curtain-covered window upside down from how far back she's flung her head. One hand tangled in her own hair; the other tangled in his.

 _So soft,_ was the last thought before her orgasm hit her like the subway and the stars inside her mind went supernova.

Draco groaned loudly as her hips jerked against his mouth in erratic movements. He pinned her thighs down and apart, holding her in place as he dragged it out as long as she could stand, and further still. The feelings were so intense - too intense, and she found herself practically sobbing. If she weren't so much smaller than him, she knew she'd be able to push him away to get some relief, but at the same time . . . She didn't want to.

She felt a second one creeping towards her, much faster than she expected, and she covered her face with her hands. It was too much. She couldn't even move.

It was like burning in starfire.

"Gonna come again, aren't you?" he purred, his tongue doing things that should have been deemed illegal by the Ministry.

"Yes," she gasped, and then she couldn't stop. "Yes. Yes. Don't stop. Draco, d-don't stop. Don't -"

He hummed his approval into her core and then continued, bringing her into the center of a black hole and allowing the event horizon to rip her body apart. She came again, feeling her entire body shivering and convulsing as the climax was torn from her depths. It reverberated from head to toe. Her entire body turned to jelly, but she was able to run her fingers through Draco's hair and down to brush his sharp cheekbones.

She'd never felt _that_ with Ron.

"Okay," she said in a weak voice, pushing on his head. "Please - I'm done. I can't."

"I will _never_ get tired of the way you taste when you come on my tongue," he growled against her lips, starting to crawl over her body once more.

"You say that like you want to do it again," Hermione said, struggling to catch her breath as the blissful aftershocks of her climax rippled through her body.

"I want to do way more than taste you, Granger," he murmured, dragging his lips along her jawline and up to her ear. "I wanna fuck you."

His lips covered hers before she could speak again. They kissed with slow, languid strokes of their tongues against one another. Hermione felt the heat in the room rising.

The way he was moving over her. The way he was kissing her, moaning and making noises in his chest. The drag of his hands down her sides. The actual words that had come out of his mouth. The way she could taste herself in his kiss.

The way her body was responding without restraint.

Two more minutes of this, and they were going to lose control.

She started to go still.

Time.

That was what she needed. She needed more time to relax and get her anxiety under control. It wouldn't do to have a panic attack in the middle of them rolling around on her bed. Or the couch. Or wherever he decided he wanted to do it.

Or wherever she decided she wanted to.

Suddenly, there was a quiet, rumbling sound, and Hermione felt her stomach roiling.

He pulled back, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Did your stomach just growl?"

A giggle escaped her. "Uh . . Yes."

Laughing, he rolled off of her. "Okay, then I guess that means we should go get food."

"All right," Hermione said, the thread of disappointment in her voice feeling as heavy as the pit of desire in her stomach. "There's a grocer's a few blocks away, so we can walk there. I'm just going to change."

He said nothing, but the air felt charged with electricity. She stood up, her legs feeling quivery from the absolute annihilation that she'd just endured, and she stumbled to the dresser.

"Is it your leg?" he asked, sounding concerned.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, seeing his glistening, kiss-swollen lips and completely mussed-up blond hair, and she wanted to slap him. She knew he was referencing her wound, but after what he'd just done, he had the _gall_ to ask her that? She felt like she'd just climbed 500 steps.

If there was one thing Draco Malfoy would always have, changed man or not, it was the audacity.

"It's my leg, all right," she muttered.

Taking her jumper off, she stood with her back to him, wearing nothing but her leggings and brassiere. She felt him watching her where he sat, but she pretended not to be nervous.

She pulled her leggings down, revealing her knickers.

He burst out laughing.

"What _now_?!" she wailed, turning in a flurry of curls to glare at him.

"Relax, witch." He stood up from the bed, smiling and reaching for her. She blushed as he pulled her into his arms and dropped a kiss to her temple. Several parts of her body tingled. "But your knickers being pink, too? Come on."

She smacked him on the upper arm and shoved him away. Then, she turned and grabbed her checkered dress. It fell to mid-thigh, had an A-line skirt, and a black collar. It was her favorite dress because it reminded her of her favorite American movie, _The Craft._ And since it was a rather warm Spring day, all she needed was a pair of black nylons, and she probably wouldn't even need a jacket.

"Zip me," she said, turning to put her back to him.

A chill ran up and down her spine the moment his hand came to rest on her hip. His knuckles brushed her bare skin as he dragged the zipper up with the extreme speed of a sloth.

Somehow, she knew that he would be touching her bare skin again at some point tonight, and that made her nervous. She fancied him - that was not debatable - and she _did_ want him to touch her. But she was anxious for more reasons than one. She'd obviously had sex before, but she was inexperienced when compared with him. Even just five minutes ago, her legs had been shaking so hard that her teeth chattered.

What if they slept together, and she embarrassed herself somehow?

"I don't think I can make it to the grocer's until after I get something in my stomach," she said, a complete lie. "I think I need something to tide me over."

"Oh?" This zipper was a slow zipper.

"Yes, because the amount of time it takes to walk there and back, plus to shop, and then to cook?" She shook her head. "No, we should go get a snack."

"Where at?" he said, and for the first time, he sounded a little apprehensive. He paused with the zipper halfway up her back.

"There's a cafe on the next street over that might be open. They're sort-of known for being open 'twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five'." She used air quotations with her fingers to emphasize her words.

"Okay," he said slowly. "And it's . . . Muggle?"

"Yes, Draco."

"Is the food . . . Like, human?"

It was Hermione's turn to burst out laughing. "Yes, Draco. Godric's beard. Muggles _are_ humans. It's not like I'm only part human."

"I'm sorry," he said, the words falling out. "I didn't mean to - that's not what I - you're human. To me. I mean - fuck. _Fuck_."

She turned her head and met his eyes with a slight twinkle in hers. She knew what he'd meant, and she also knew that his words had not come from a place of malice. They came as a product of misinformed Pureblood education and corrupt wizarding societal ideals.

"It's okay. I forgive you. You know I forgive you."

He looked contrite as he lowered his gaze and his hand squeezed her hip. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"For everything. Not just -"

"I _know_ , Draco."

He met her eyes again, his swimming with remorse that felt a lot deeper than the ravine beneath the Hogwarts bridge.

"I'll never stop apologizing," he said in a soft voice, and his hand slid from her hip to the curve of her waist. "You understand that, right?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "I understand, but I don't want you to."

"Respectfully, Granger? When it comes to this, I don't care what you want."

She felt emotion rising in her throat, but she held his gaze, turning a bit more. "What _do_ you care about?"

He bit his lower lip, his eyes scouring her face as though he were searching her skin for the answer.

She could see it there: his wall. The wall that he'd had up for the entire school year. The wall that probably made it easier for him to engage in hook-up after hook-up, never letting anyone into his heart. The same wall that had stood between them on Valentine's.

A wall that she wasn't sure she could break through just yet.

"I just want to make sure you know that I'm sorry," he mumbled. "That's all. Let's go to your human cafe."

Draco zipped her dress the rest of the way, and it felt like he'd just closed a chapter in their book.


	18. Chapter 18

**Small**

**Chapter Eighteen - Together**

O

After hunting down a nearby cafe that was open on Easter, they went inside for a snack.

The empty cafe was eclectic, with bright, jarring colors and somewhat obnoxious indie rock playing over the speakers. It wasn't so loud that they couldn't hear each other, but it was loud enough that it couldn't be ignored. Hermione didn't mind it, having grown up around plenty of Muggle music, but Draco seemed to have affixed a sneer permanently to his face.

As they walked up to the counter, Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"What do you think of the —"

"I despise it," he said, cutting her off. His silver eyes pierced down into her as though he needed her to understand nothing else. "It's horrid."

Hermione stifled a giggle behind her hand "No."

His eyebrows shot up. "Yes."

"Come on—it's not that bad."

"Yes, it is. It's rubbish. It's complete tosh." His hand wove its way through his hair.

"Do you want to leave?" Hermione gestured to the door, even though the barista behind the counter looked somewhat impatient.

"Do _you_ want to leave?"

" _I_ don't want to leave, but if _you_ want to leave, then we can leave," she said.

"I can stay. But if _you_ want to go, then we can find somewhere else."

They held each other's gazes. A silent challenge passed between them.

"Why don't we eat here, and then just go back home?" Hermione said with an air of finality about her. "And then we can watch a movie."

"A movie?" His brows twitched together.

"Just . . . You'll see." Hermione turned to face the barista with a bright smile. "I'm ready to order."

Navigating the menu with Draco was a bit of an ordeal, given that he'd never heard of a latte in his entire life, and it was clear that the barista wasn't happy about it. Hermione ended up scrapping the ramshackle nonsense he'd been trying to come up with and ordering him the same exact drink as her. Aside from the drinks, she ordered them each a hamd and cheese croissant meal, and then they headed to a table by the window.

"I could have paid for them," he said, narrowing his eyes across the table.

"With what? A sickle?" She snorted and took a sip of her drink. "They take Muggle money, Draco."

"Still."

" _Still_ nothing," she said. "It wasn't expensive."

The silence was tense as Hermione took another drink. Draco averted his eyes.

"I'll buy you a Butterbeer when we get back to Hogwarts."

Hermione felt her heart skipping a beat and she also averted her gaze. "Oh, at the Three Broomsticks? That sounds all right. We could —"

"Or at Madam Puddifoot's." He cleared his throat. "Or, wherever you'd like."

He pulled a face and then sniffed the steam wafting from the drink in his cup. Hermione watched with an amused expression as he took a cautious sip. Two seconds passed and then she saw him straighten his back.

"Good?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded and took a large, deep drink. When he set the cup down, he was smiling. Some of the froth had attached itself to his skin above his lip, and without thinking, Hermione leaned over to wipe it with her thumb.

They stared at one another. Then, before she could lose her nerve or stop herself, she leaned forward over the small table and pecked him on the lips. Cheeks burning, she refocused on her latte.

"Sorry," she said, breaking the spell. "You're supposed to sip it. It keeps the foam from getting on your lip."

His smirk was slow to grow. "And that required a kiss . . . Why?"

"It just . . ." Hermione shrugged. "It just did."

"Hm."

As if on cue, they both turned their faces towards the window. It wasn't too crowded outside, but there were some people out wandering the sidewalks and the streets were full of cars. Hermione allowed herself to zone out while watching them, her thoughts going blank for a minute. It was in the silence that she noticed.

This was the first time in weeks that she hadn't felt like panicking. Her leg didn't hurt, thanks to the potion Madam Pomfrey had given hers. She was in the Muggle world, a world she felt safe in, and Draco was with her.

She was content.

"So, do we just . . . Stare at them?"

Hermione laughed and looked at him. "It's called people-watching."

"What's that?"

Her eyes widened. "I guess we don't have that in the wizarding world, do we?"

Draco pulled another sour face. "No. No, we do not."

"It's silly," she said. "So, how is your mother?"

He sipped at his drink. "She's well, I suppose."

"What does she do . . . Exactly?"

"Not much." Draco stirred the contents of his cup around with his straw. "Since father's in prison, she lives the society life in Denmark. There's neutrality there, so she doesn't have to hide. In her last letter, she told me she was dealing in fine art."

"Fine art?"

"Yes. Paintings, mostly. Wizarding paintings are charmed, you know, and some have moving, speaking depictions of important witches and wizards. In Denmark, there are wizards who prefer to trade or display these paintings in _salon_ s. And my mother's chateau has a very sizable _salon_. She hosts dinner parties often and they admire the paintings while discussing the art."

"Oh, okay. And they talk about the paintings?" Hermione was fascinated by this. She knew what French _salon_ s were, but she hadn't realized that they were a part of Pureblood society, too.

Before he could reply, the waitress came to bring them their meals. They began to eat them as soon as she walked away.

"Is there . . . A utensil, or . . . ?"

Hermione tried to keep herself from smiling. "It's a croissant, Draco. You can pick it up and bite into it, or you can tear pieces off. You don't need a _utensil_."

"I know what a croissant is, witch." His eyes flashed. "I'm just unfamiliar with barbarism."

"All right, Dramatic Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.

With yet another frown, he picked the croissant up and bit into it. He didn't seem happy about the flaky crumbs, but he continued to eat it. Hermione, on the other hand, tore smaller pieces off so she could savor the flavors of the buttery bread, sweet ham, and rustic cheese.

"So, is that all your mother does?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure what she spends her time doing," he replied with a shrug. "Sometimes, she visits my father. I'm sure she makes house calls. Shopping, maybe. Travel. She has a lot of friends, so I'm sure she keeps busy."

She watched Draco for a moment. His brows were knitted together, the troubled expression contrasting with the chipper tone of his voice. It felt like he was hiding something—like it was lurking beneath the surface of a calm, dark lake. A small piece of himself that he'd never shared with her, but that she wanted to catch a glimpse of before it sunk to the depths forever.

"Do you miss her?" she asked.

He paused mid-bite and looked at her. He didn't answer at first, taking his time to chew slowly. Then, he picked up his drink and sipped on it again. The cup was placed down again.

The silence was heavy.

"I miss them both," he finally said. "Terribly. But I know that it's something I'm going to have to get used to. I'll never see my father again, and my mother—"

"You won't visit him?" Hermione said, cutting him off in her shock.

He glanced out the window. "I will never see my father again."

A tension similar to the one that she'd felt between them that first night working on the Library stretched taut.

"I understand," she said, even though she didn't and would never understand. And not because she thought he should see Lucius, or because she thought he needed to see his father. It was because Hermione knew that no matter how well she got to know Draco and no matter how large a role she played in the war, she would never understand what it was like to have Lord Voldemort inside of her head. She understood that Draco was serious.

He would never see his father again.

"And you?" Draco said, shattering the silence. "What about your parents? You said they worked with teeth?"

Hermione grimaced. "You want to know about my parents? Even though they're Muggle?"

"Hermione, are you serious?" He arched one eyebrow. "I don't care about that stuff anymore. I don't know how much clearer I can make it."

"Well, I don't know!" she said, throwing one hand up and relaxing back in her chair. "Your head is locked with an Unbreakable Vow, and I'm not a Legilimens!"

Draco scoffed, appearing incredulous. Then, he leaned forward, glanced at the oblivious waitress and other patrons, and then hissed, "Was having my head buried between your thighs not answer enough?"

Hermione clamped a hand over his mouth, her entire face hot with a blush. Heart racing, she used her other hand to touch the tip of his nose with her forefinger.

" _Don't_ say that out _loud_ ," she said in a high-pitched tone. "Okay? Okay."

His eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand back and he was smirking.

"I want to know about your parents," he said, grabbing his drink. "So, sue me, or tell me about them."

She stared at him for a second, waiting to see what the catch was. She was no expert on hook-ups, but it seemed a little strange to want to know about the parents of someone you only wanted to be casual with. Hermione didn't _want_ to be casual, which was her explanation for wanting to know more about him. But if _he_ wanted to know more about _her_ . . .

Then what did that mean?

"My mother's name is Marie," she said. "And my father's name is William. They work with teeth, yes, but they also have their own interests. My mother loves to read and write. My father loves boats and model trains."

"And where are they? Are they here in London?"

Sadness slumped her shoulders a fraction. "They're not here."

"Where are they?"

"They're in—" She interrupted herself to eat the last bite of her croissant. It was hard to chew when her throat ached this way. "They're in Australia."

"Australia? That's sort-of far. Why are—"

"I sent them there," she blurted out. "During the war. I didn't want . . ." She sighed. There was no point in pretending that she hadn't done a horrible thing. "I didn't want the Dark Lord to hurt them, so I erased their memories of me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Obliviation. That's complicated spellwork. And you succeeded?"

She nodded, feeling her guilt like a hole in the pit of her stomach. "They have no idea who I am, nor do they recall having a daughter. They think they just had enough of the rain."

"Had enough of the rain," he echoed. "Salazar. So . . . Have you tried to put them back to rights?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think the betrayal that they'd feel would hurt worse than them simply . . . Going on without me. I didn't think I'd survive the war, anyway. Some things—some _people_ are better off left to memory."

"How could anyone forget you, Hermione Granger?" His lips quirked upward as he absentmindedly stirred his latte while gazing out the window. "The way you corrected the Weaselbee in First Year alone was enough to remember you."

Flushing, Hermione gave him a playful-yet-offended look. "What do you mean?"

"It's _levi-o-sa,_ not _levio-sa_."

Hermione gasped and he began to laugh. She reached forward to punch him lightly in the upper arm and then glared at him.

"I was pretentious, but what can I say? I was trying to prove myself."

"I _know_ ," he said, rolling his eyes. "But no, Granger. You are the _least_ forgettable person on the planet. If your parents can't remember you, then it's a testament to your prowess. It means you're a very, very powerful witch."

Oddly enough, his words made Hermione feel a bit better.

She smiled, unable to stop herself from beaming up at him across the table. Then, it faded as quickly as late afternoon sunlight.

"I don't think I'll ever see my father again, either. Or my mother. And that's not okay with me."

"Then . . . Is there nothing you can do?"

Hermione drank the last of her coffee. "There may be something, but . . . It's best I leave them be. They never asked for a daughter like me. They barely made it through to my Sixth Year. They were beyond overwhelmed and I could tell. There was something in their eyes when anything related to the wizarding world came up." Frowning, she glowered at the table top, imagining that she was looking into a mirror. "Even if I could fix the damage I've done, I don't think I quite deserve to have them in my life anymore."

"Even though it might be an easy fix?" Draco said.

She looked up at him again. "It was easy for me to take everything away from them. It might be easy for me to give it all back. But where's the punishment for stealing from them? It would be wrong for me to play my parents like pawns on a chessboard without their consent."

Judging by the look on his face, she could tell that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

From the point-of-view of a chess piece.

"Don't punish yourself for too long," he said after a second of gazing out the window. When he met her eyes once more, she saw sincerity. "If you truly want them to move on without you, then you have to move on, too. There's no point living in a cell of your own making."

She wondered if he wasn't perhaps wishing he could tell his father the same thing.

O

"I'm not even going to bother being humble," Draco said.

Hermione turned the lock on the front door and turned to look at him in the living room. "What?"

"I said, I'm not going to try and be humble." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I need to shower, but the showers at my home are run by magic. Therefore—"

"You need my help." Hermione gave him a small smile. "Here, I'll show you how to turn the handles."

Draco stood behind her, listening while she showed him how to work the shower. It was no different than explaining it to any other guest. When she stood up straight and turned to face him, there was a look on his face that seemed mischievous.

"Care to join me?"

Hermione let out a nervous laugh. "Uh, ah—no. No, that's all right. I need to-to tidy up."

"Tidy up a flat you haven't been in since the Summer?" He was smirking again.

She opened her mouth to retort, but was unable to find any explanation or lie to use to explain why she didn't want to shower with him. There was definitely no shortage of desire inside of her to do that sort of thing, but the pressure and thought of what might happen was enough to make her shy away. Because even though they'd hooked up twice now, showering together was another massive step—a step she didn't want to take if all he wanted to do was hook-up.

The question was: how to answer him?

If she tried to smooth things over again and downplay the severity, then they'd just be in the same spot they were already standing in. They'd be in limbo together, tugging on two ends of a rope while each one continued to stay silent about what they really wanted. That would just intensify Hermione's anxiety, and make it hurt worse if he ever decided to stop speaking to her.

And what could it hurt, being a little honest? She already feared he wasn't interested in her the way she was in him, so if he lived down to her expectations, then she couldn't really be that disappointed. At least then she'd have the truth.

"Just take your shower," she said, shaking her head. "Git."

He snorted in indignation, and she left the bathroom.

While he showered, Hermione charmed the one fleece blanket she had into two and set them both on the couch. Then, she paused. The couch had three cushions, but was rather small. If they sat on it to watch the movie, there would be no avoiding their knees touching. She pointed her wand.

And hesitated.

Maybe it would be okay to leave it the way it was for now.

She went to the shelf beside the TV stand and picked out a movie. She didn't have very many to choose from, but she figured that Draco wouldn't care what she picked. He didn't know what a movie was anyway.

After changing into a pair of pyjama shorts and an oversized pink hooded jumper, she went back to the living room to wait.

When Draco entered the living room, Hermione was surprised to see that he'd transfigured his clothing into a pair of black satin pyjamas. His hair was wet, scraped back along the top of his head, and his skin was flushed pink at the apples of his cheeks.

"I'm unsurprised," Hermione said from her spot on one side of the couch. She had the remote in one hand and had been gazing out the living room window at the city for the past ten minutes or so.

"Unsurprised at what?" he asked, taking a spot on the other end of the couch and pulling his knees up to his chest. The moment he sat down, the tension increased. There was only a couple of feet of space between them on the small couch.

"At the fact that your pyjamas are made of satin." She raised her eyebrows. "Anyway, you're making yourself right at home, aren't you?"

He pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, swathing himself until the only visible part of his body was his head. "Yes."

Hermione blinked, a bit taken aback at his openness. "Well, all right then."

Draco glanced over at her, then at the telly, which was on with the DVD menu showing. "So . . . What is this?"

Hermione laughed. "It's a telly."

"I know that, I don't live in Atlantis, Granger." He glared at her. "I meant, what's on it?"

"Oh, a movie," she said. "I picked a period piece because it felt a little less . . . Well, I don't want to overwhelm you."

"Overwhelm me?"

"Movies these days are a bit . . . Over the top. And I didn't want to overwhelm you with it all, especially if you've never seen one before. It's about the first Queen Elizabeth."

"All right," he said, sounding a bit apprehensive. "She was a—"

"Witch, yes. I know." Hermione pressed play on the remote, and the movie began to play.

A few moments passed by, and then Draco spoke.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?"

"Oh . . ." Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm a bit nervous. Are you?"

"Why would I be nervous?"

"Uh . . ." Her words stumbled on their way off of her tongue. "Well, I mean—because of the stigma."

He breathed a laugh. "The _stigma_?"

"I just—I'm sorry." Hermione dropped her forehead into her palm, her anxiety levels starting to rise. "I don't even know if the trial is open or not, but I meant in the case there's an audience, and—"

He lifted one eyebrow. "And because I'm a former Death Eater, you think I'll feel ashamed testifying about what I did to Selwyn?"

She opened her mouth to answer, to explain, but nothing came out.

" _I get that I hurt you._ _I get that I was a prat. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to hurt you. But two wrongs don't make a right. I'm not a bloody block of ice."_

The vice started to squeeze around her heart. Panic filled her chest and spilled out into the rest of her body. She didn't want to have an attack right now—not when things had been going so well.

 _Breathe, Hermione,_ she thought, staring at the television screen without really seeing it. _Just breathe._

"I'm sorry," she said, ripping the words out of herself like weeds from a garden of thoughts. "I made an assumption. Yes, that is what I meant. You _are_ a former Death Eater, and even though I know you now and don't think anything negatively towards you, I know that wizarding society doesn't see it the same way. I'm really nervous about having to see Sebastien again, and I think I was just more interested to know if you felt the same way or similarly. And then I tried to tie it in with things I know and believe."

There. The truth. And it wasn't as bad to say as she'd originally thought it would be. But even though it felt relieving to just speak her mind for once, she was still afraid of what he would say. She was afraid he would hate her, or would think she was unintelligent or trying to judge him. Which, what she'd said _was_ based in preconceived notions, but they hadn't been _malicious._

Sometimes, the best intentions had sharp thorns.

"I'm not nervous," Draco said, turning his attention back to the movie. "I've gotten used to it. It's Azkaban that I worry about the most."

"Used to what?"

"The stigma."

They watched the movie for a while, until the sun went down completely and it was dark outside save for the London lights. Hermione found herself feeling increasingly calmer. The anxiety was like the ocean, with waves and tides that ebbed and flowed. For now, she was able to swim.

She relaxed, pulling the blanket up higher on her body in gradual increments the more comfortable she got. It was strange, sitting on a couch in her flat with Draco Malfoy, of all wizards. Watching a DVD with him while wearing pyjamas. It felt surreal. It felt so Muggle.

It felt like a date.

Feeling a bit nervous all-of-a-sudden, Hermione mirrored Draco's position, pulling her hoodie down to cover her knees and calves. Draco looked at her.

"Cold?"

"Yes, it's a bit chilly," she said.

He laughed.

"What?" she said. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "It's just cute, is all."

Hermione's cheeks warmed. "Well, I'm cold."

"So cast a warming charm, smart one," Draco retorted.

She shot him a glare. He was right, but for some reason, she didn't like hearing him tell her to cast a charm. Leaning forward towards the coffee table, she reached for her wand.

"Or," he said, "you could come sit over here."

Hermione froze.

"Like . . . with you? B-beside you? Or . . . ?"

Without looking away from the movie, he used his left hand to hold the right side of the blanket open. He waited for a few seconds, and then started to close it again.

"No!" she cried, earning herself a look from him. She was grateful for the darkness hiding her blush. "I mean, yes. I'll sit. There. With you, I mean."

He opened the blanket again and then, before she could chicken out, she dropped her feet to the floor and used them to propel herself to the left. Her body settled against the side of his, the softness from the satin enveloping her. He reached across her to close the blanket again, and she pulled her knees up once more. Soon, they were both swathed in warmth with only their heads poking out.

"Your feet are cold," he said, wriggling his toes beneath where her feet overlapped them.

"You smell good," she blurted out, staring at the telly.

"Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded a bit quieter. "So do you."

A nervous laugh from Hermione.

"Here, lift up a bit," he said.

She did, and he raised his right arm. He slid it around her shoulders, bending his elbow and sinking his fingers into the depths of her curls on the right side of her head. His nails grazed her scalp right as he turned his head to press his lips against her hair on the other side. She shivered.

"There," he said, his voice rumbling throughout his chest. "Better."

Inside, she was screaming.

They watched the remainder of the movie in silence. Hermione felt so comfortable and relaxed that her eyelids weighed themselves downward. They sunk further and further, until her head fell to his shoulder, his head fell to the top of hers, and they both dozed off.

O

Hermione woke.

The movie was over, and the movie menu music was playing. Her head was completely covered by the blanket and her nostrils were full with the scent of Draco's cologne. She was curled up with her knees cast across his lap and he was still asleep. His chest rose and fell with each quiet snore.

She didn't move. It felt like she was floating on a cloud. And with the blanket covering her and Draco's hard-yet-yielding body behind and underneath her, she felt safe.

Her eyes started to call shut again . . .

Draco jolted, inhaling sharply through his nose. Hermione lifted her head from his chest, the blanket dipping down to her shoulder in the process. His hair was all over the place—a right mess—and he was looking down at her through sleep-narrowed eyes. Behind him, the window and the city lights provided a beautiful backdrop and made his hair look almost white.

"Your hair looks atrocious," she said, her voice hoarse from sleeping.

A horn honked outside, somewhere in the distance, and Hermione looked past him at the window as though she could see it in the sky. Draco's hand against the side of her face, cupping her cheek, brought her attention back to him. Their eyes met.

"Yours looks beautiful," he whispered, and then he hooked his fingers underneath her jawline and tilted her face upward.

He pressed his lips to hers with a lightness that sent bolts down through her entire body. When his tongue slipped between her lips, its strokes were lazy as he dragged a sigh out of her throat. Something shifted inside of her, twisting and curling in the pit of her stomach. With the warmth of his body and the blanket, his fingers tickling the base of her skull and toying with her curls, it felt like he was trying to convince her to stay with him forever. Like he was so content to be there with her that he didn't need to rush.

She'd never been kissed like this before.

But then . . . If he was kissing her like this, what did it mean? Did it mean that he felt something for her that went beyond the surface? _Was_ he content to be around her? And if so, was it a temporary contentment, or a permanent one?

For a split second, Hermione believed in Divination. She could see a future with him, laid out before her like the cobblestones fitting together on Diagon Alley. She could see them having many more nights like this, curled up together on the couch and falling asleep while watching movies. She could see them walking the halls of Hogwarts with their hands intertwined, spending the rest of the year together and graduating with hope and promise.

Did he see it, too?

She needed to know.

When he pulled back, she placed her hand flat on his chest and gave him a look of sincerity.

"What are we, Draco?"

He went silent, seemingly deep in thought. His gaze flitted about her while he traced the outline of her face and fingered some of her curls. Hermione's heart raced while she waited for him to speak.

Because that was the big question, wasn't it? What _were_ they? What was a hook-up to him? Was she just like Romilda, someone to have fun with? Or did he want something more?

"I thought you just wanted to hook-up," he said after a while, still working on fixing her hair. "Is that not the case?"

Her heart dipped down for a moment. Had she said the wrong thing? If he thought she wanted more and he didn't, would he leave?

Why did that make her want to cry?

"I-I-I . . ." She stammered, unable to find the right answer. If she told him the truth, she might lose him, but she'd at least be able to say that she advocated for herself. If she told him a lie, she might be able to keep him, but it wouldn't be _real_. It would be like keeping a shadow tethered to a magic chain.

"What about you?" he said. "What do _you_ want?"

Disarmed, she lowered her gaze and watched herself fiddling with the top button on his long-sleeved pyjama top. She knew what she wanted. She knew she wanted to be with him, and she'd known it for months. She'd also told him that she liked him when they'd closed the well up together.

Was that not enough?

"I want to be with you," she said. "I thought you knew that."

His hand drew back away from her hair and he averted his eyes. "Oh."

"Oh?"

He grimaced and shifted so that his feet were on the floor and he was sitting normally on the couch. "I thought you were just telling me you liked me."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I . . . Just . . . I thought . . ." He dropped his hand back into his lap, beneath the blanket. He hung his head, his hair falling forward, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she looked upon him. His shoulders were slumped forward and he looked forlorn. Like he knew he'd done something wrong. And while she wanted to feel sad because of the possibility he was trying to tell her he didn't like her back, something about the way he'd apologized made her feel like it was something else.

There was something he was hiding.

"For the record," she said, gripping the fabric of his shirt, "When I told you I liked you, it was because I want to be with you. I wouldn't have told you that if I just wanted to—well, if I only wanted you for a little while."

He lifted his head and in his eyes, she saw something that ran a lot deeper than just feeling bad for misconstruing her words.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, lifted his head just enough to look at her through his lashes. "I am. And I . . . Like you. It's just hard for me to trust anyone."

Hermione frowned. "You hesitated."

"What?"

"You hesitated when you said you liked me."

The silence felt suffocating. He turned his face away from a second and then scooted down a bit until the blanket was higher on both of them. He wore a troubled expression.

"I'm not hesitating because it's not true," he murmured. "I'm hesitating because I don't know how to answer your question. I don't _know_ what we are. I just know I want _you_. And I'm not the type to beg, so . . . Can that just be enough for now?"

Hermione stifled a gasp and stared at him. He stared right back at her, his eyes drawing her in with remorse and honesty. It wasn't the answer she'd wanted to hear, but neither was it the answer she _hadn't_ wanted to hear. It was him setting a boundary. It was what he could give her, and it was somewhere in the middle.

It was better.

She lifted her hands and grabbed his cheeks, pulling him into an emboldened kiss. He seemed caught off guard, especially when she turned her head to the side so she could dominate his mouth with her tongue and snog the Snitch out of him. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, urging her onward and pushing her to kiss him with as much zeal as she could muster.

Still wrapped up in the blanket, Hermione slid her knee across his lap and pulled herself to straddle him. Her fingers slid up into the mess of platinum hair atop his head, her fingernails scratching along the softness of his scalp. He moaned at the action and his back arched upward away from the back of the couch.

It was dark in the living room, save for the light coming from the city and the telly. Something about the sounds of cars going by outside made it feel like they were lost in their own world. A world separate from the wizarding world. A world where she could almost pretend that they were Muggles. Just a couple of young adults who hadn't been forced to fight in a war. A boy who hadn't been mentally abused by the Dark Lord, and a girl who hadn't risked her life for witches and wizards everywhere that she didn't even know.

And here in this world, she could pretend that he was hers.

She wanted to give him her heart.

Hermione ground her hips down against his in a way that she hoped conveyed what she was feeling, trailing kisses along Draco's jaw and down the side of his neck. The heat from their bodies being trapped under the blanket rose, causing Hermione's skin to prickle. She tasted his pulse with her tongue, eliciting another panting moan from his lips. His head fell back onto the top of the couch.

"Oh, fuck," Draco whispered in a breathy, high-pitched tone, his hips rolling beneath hers to the same tune as the sweep of her tongue against his skin. His hands stroked downward from her waist to her hips. "That feels—it's so good."

Hermione's mind felt as blank and endless as the night sky. Stars twinkled and burned inside of it, expanding as her passions rose. Her core pulsed with desire, her hips undulating in a lewd rhythm against the hardness that had grown between his thighs.

As Hermione continued her ministrations, her own lower body seeming to grow more excitable by the second, the rolling of his hips beneath her grew firmer and more precise. His breaths came out in short, stuttered pants. He groaned, his fingers digging into the dip of her waistline.

And then she scraped her teeth along the skin beneath the hinge of his jaw.

He let out a loud curse. Before Hermione knew what was going on, his hand gripped the curls at the back of her head and pulled down. Her head tilted upward, away from his neck, and he slammed his lips to hers in a voracious kiss. As he did so, he turned them until she was on her back on the couch cushions.

Without breaking the kiss or withdrawing his tongue from her mouth, he pulled the blanket over them again, sealing them with the sounds of the gasping breaths in the heat and darkness. Hermione felt him settling between her legs and, on instinct, she hooked her feet around the back of his knees. The satin of his pants was beyond soft.

They rolled, the blanket keeping them trapped, and Hermione was on top of him again. His hand slipped between them, slinking up underneath the hem of her left shorts leg. He seemed to have no intention of stopping because within seconds, his fingers were toying with the elastic of her knickers.

Hermione moved her hips forward, closer to him, silently urging him to touch her. Her head dropped into the crook of his neck, where the tip of her tongue tasted the small bit of sweat that they were both secreting under the confines of the fleece.

"Yeah?" he half-whispered, half-groaned.

"Yes," she replied. "Please. Yes."

The moment he inserted two fingers into the center of her lower body, Hermione felt her entire body coming to life like a solar flare. She cried out into his neck, her hips thrusting forward again and again. She found her own pleasure in the mere presence of his fingers inside of her, not even stopping to give him a chance to start moving them.

"You remember what I said to you?" he said into her ear as his other hand slid into the waistband of the shorts and her knickers. He breathed out a devilish laugh. "How can you be so bad but so _fucking_ good at the same time?"

He touched her pearl. She was so wet, there was no pain or resistance. Only an intense bliss that had her stomach twisting and a chorus of desperate moans coming out of her. There was hardly any air under the blanket, but Hermione didn't care. All she cared about was chasing the song he was strumming into her body.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, her hips jerking as the slickness of her body overwhelmed his fingers. The in-and-out in her core, the swirling of the pads of his fingers at the apex, his hot breath in her ear, the stifling heat . . . She could feel how close she was in the lowest parts of her stomach and the tips of her fingers and toes.

"You're gonna come, aren't you?" he growled through clenched teeth. "Are you gonna fucking come for me?"

She managed to strangle out a sound of assent moments before the stars exploded and she came with a series of violent shudders. She bit down on his neck involuntarily, her entire body wrapping around him as her orgasm washed through her like a tidal wave.

When his hands went to her hips again, Hermione lifted her head to kiss him. She moaned into his mouth, pressing against him for a moment before she pulled back.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?" He sounded breathless.

"I want to."

He paused and then said, "Are you sure?"

"One thousand percent."

"Right here?"

"Yes."

He started to say something else, but Hermione was already lifting herself up onto her hands and knees over him. A rush of cool air entered the space as the side of the blanket slipped to touch the floor, but they remained ensconced in darkness. Which she was glad for, since she wasn't so sure she'd feel this bold if they could see one another.

It was her turn to slip her hand between them.

"Fuck—Are you sure? Are you sure?" His words came out in rushed groans. "Sweet _fucking_ Circe—are you _sure_?"

Without responding, Hermione held aside her own knickers and lined him up with her entrance. He let out a whine, his fingers digging so hard into her hips that it almost hurt her. His thighs were trembling between her own. She tried to move, but he held her in place.

"I need your consent. Are you—"

"I'm _sure_!" she cried, laughing as she dipped her head down to kiss his petal-soft lips.

He laughed, too, and she took the opening.

She sank down onto him. Slowly, bit-by-bit, feeling her body stretching to accommodate him. It hurt a bit, but nowhere near as much as it had with Ron. There was no chafing or burning, and by the time he was fully inside of her, she was ready to completely forget about her ex.

" _Accio_ wand," she heard him murmur in a voice that seemed to come from a half-present mind. The wand slid under the blanket and into his hand. He cast a contraceptive charm on both of them. Then, he vanished their bottoms and undergarments, leaving her clad only in her jumper and him in his shirt.

Hermione rested for a moment, waiting for her body to become fully comfortable. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Draco Malfoy was inside of her. She was sleeping with _Draco sodding Malfoy,_ and it didn't feel like a hook-up. It didn't feel like a hook-up at _all_.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice almost similar to a hum. He rocked his hips once. "Does it feel okay?"

Hermione felt a stinging in her eyes.

Ron had never asked her that.

"Yes, it feels good," she whispered, and then she rocked her hips, too. A pleasant feeling rippled through her, so she repeated the movement. The feeling got more intense as she felt the sliding of their skin.

"Sh—" He gasped. " _Yes._ Do that."

So she did it again. And again. And again.

Soon, she had her hands flat on the cushions to either side of his shoulders, and she was riding him in a way that she'd never done with Ron. She wasn't sure if she was very good at it, but judging by the way moans were punctuating each of Draco's breaths, he was okay with it. It certainly felt good for her.

But she could feel herself getting somewhat lightheaded. It was difficult to breathe with the blanket over them like this. But if she moved it, then the lights of the city would put them on full display. Would she still feel bold enough to be on top like this if she knew he could see her?

"Please," he said into her ear, his voice hovering on the edge of a desperate whine. "Please, please don't stop. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop."

Hermione threw caution to the wind. She threw the blanket off of them and sat up, placing her hand on the center of his chest. For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes. There was tenderness hidden somewhere behind the lust in his, and it showed her that even though he couldn't promise her his trust, he was giving her everything he possibly could.

She felt something swelling between them—like she was truly connected to him. And not just because they were sleeping together. It was like she was in the bottom of the well again, and he was at the top, promising to rescue her. Safety was all she wanted, and he'd given it to her constantly, time and time again. She was happy to give him this.

This was _not_ a hook-up.

She began to move, simultaneously rotating her hips and grinding downward.

Draco's eyes rolled up into his head. One of his hands slid up into the hair near his temple and his brows pulled together. He bit his lip and his other hand gripped her thigh.

She continued to ride him, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. The sounds of their pelvises joining mingled with the sounds coming from their lips, drowning out the noises of the city. It felt even more like they were lost in their own world. A world where no one else existed other than them.

Suddenly, Draco took her by surprise and grabbed her hips. He held her in place above him and then locked eyes with her. Then, he began to slam his hips upward, hard enough to push the air out of her chest.

Her own eyes rolled and her mouth fell open. It made her entire body turn to jelly, set her muscles to quivering, and made her moans turn into embarrassing whimpers. The only strength she had was in her fingers, which she used to clench the hard muscles of his biceps. They flexed from the exertion of holding her suspended.

"That's it, isn't it?" he cooed, as though he weren't thrusting her into the oblivion of the galaxy. "You like that? It feels good, yeah? Tell me. I wanna hear you."

Hermione's mind cracked in two. She blushed even as she moaned, "Yes, it does. It does."

"Hold yourself up on your knees, darling," he breathed, patting her rear.

She did so, and then he began to touch her pearl again, bringing her closer to her release. Her hips canted forward as he continued to thrust upward.

"Hm, what would they all think tomorrow if they knew I was fucking you like this?" Draco said. "What would they all think if they knew how good it feels inside of you?" He bit his lip, smirked, and then said, "Maybe I'll fuck you again after the first one's over."

Her heart dropped like a stone in water.

Why did he have to bring that up? Why did he have to remind her of what was happening tomorrow morning? Why did he have to remind her of the first part of the trial?

Her chest began to constrict, squeezing inward as a panic attack hurtled towards her. It raced with her climax, the two feelings at war as each tried to arrive first. Hermione's entire body began to shake, and she wasn't sure if it was from how good Draco felt, or how terrified she suddenly was.

Because while she would most certainly be happy to do this as many times with him as he'd have her, she wasn't looking forward to the preliminary, and she _wasn't_ interested in thinking about it until she was standing in front of the London telephone box that would take them into the Ministry.

"Fuck. I'm gonna—please. Please, Hermione—fuck. You're gonna make me come."

His words confused her feelings even more. They made her womb clench, and her anxiety rise higher. Everything was suddenly so overwhelming. She wanted this to go on forever, but not just because it felt good—because the sooner it was done, the closer they were to sleeping. The closer they were to sleeping, the sooner it would come time for the trial.

And then she'd have to look Sebastien in the eyes.

 _No_ , she thought angrily. _No. I can't let Sebastien have any more pieces of me. I can't let him take this_ — _Draco_ — _away from me._ I'm _in control. Not Sebastien. Not my fear. Not my anxiety._ Me _._

"Look at me, Draco." When he did, it felt like the stars aligned.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, as if he found it incredulous. "You're everything."

When he finally climaxed, the sounds of his moans and the way his messy hair shrouded his eyes caused Hermione to fall apart above him. They came together, and it was so bone-wracking that Hermione collapsed on top of him with her head pillowed on his chest. She struggled to catch her breath.

As he softened inside of her, she felt the wave of panic creeping closer once again.

The trial was only hours away. Hours. One sleep. And then she'd be in front of her nightmare again.

"I'm feeling overwhelmed," she said, unable to stop herself. She was on the verge of tears and that was audible in the tremor of her voice. "I'm feeling really overwhelmed. It's not your fault. I know it's not your fault. But when you reminded me about the trial, it-it scared me and I panicked. I'm overwhelmed and I can't—"

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, voice soothing. His hands began to stroke and massage up her back. "It's okay. Come on, don't cry."

Hermione sobbed into his shirt for a moment, the panic fully eclipsing her. She could barely breathe. Crying after sleeping with him because she was having a panic attack over something that was hours away? She felt humiliated.

"Come here," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and turning their bodies so that she was pinned between the back of the couch and his frontside. He adjusted so that he wasn't inside of her anymore, and then he kissed the top of her head. "It's okay. Shh."

"I'm sorry," she said into his shirt, weeping from mortification and anxiety. "I'm so sorry."

"No—hey, Hermione. It was my fault. I shouldn't have said that stuff. I'm the one who's sorry. You have _nothing_ to apologize for."

"You couldn't have known," she whispered, her tears wet on her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to get her sobs under control. "You couldn't have."

"Except that I did know." He pushed her chin up and looked down at her. "I used Legilimency on you, remember?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. She felt stupid. While it was foolish to think that she and Draco could ever be together normally—to think that there _wouldn't_ be issues and hiccups and potholes in the road, she felt like she was the problem. She felt like _she_ was the one who kept ruining everything.

She was going to cry.

Her chin trembled. She couldn't look at him without feeling an ache in her heart. When she thought all the way back to the beginning of the year, to their first conversation in the Library, she regretted the way she'd painted him. She wished she'd done things differently.

Maybe every bad thing that had happened that year could have been avoided if she hadn't assumed he read Dark texts.

Maybe he'd be hers.

"I'm not sure about anything when it comes to you," she replied. "But I know that I feel humiliated right now, and that I have spent this entire school year making an idiot out of myself."

"Why?"

She lifted herself up onto her elbows so she could look at him. A cloud had passed across the moon, shrouding them in temporary shadows. Though it was dark, she could make out his outline. He was looking at her, too.

"I was judgmental towards you when we first started working on the Library," she said, her cheeks still damp. "And I knew I liked you fairly soon after that. But instead of just telling you, I went out of my way to be obnoxious and childish. I should have just told you. And now, here, I've just cried after coitus."

He burst out laughing. " _Cried_ after _coitus_?"

Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. "Don't tease."

Draco didn't say anything for a long moment. He pursed his lips and studied her, almost like he was trying to figure something out. She wondered if it had anything to do with whatever it was that he was hiding.

What was it about her that he didn't trust?

"I've always been a coward, Granger," he murmured, lowering his gaze. "I want to be with you, but I'm scared. I'm always scared."

"I'm scared, too," she said, the racing of her pulse picking up in speed. Her fingers fidgeted with his shirt. "I'm scared to be with someone who makes me feel the way you do. So . . . Out of control."

Beneath her hands, she felt his heart thumping in his chest.

Draco cleared his throat. "And what about the trial?"

"The trial?" She continued to watch herself play with his shirt button. "I'm frightened of that, too."

"Which part? Having to relive it, or having to—"

"I'm scared of seeing him again," she said, cutting him off. "I don't want to remember what he looked like. I want it to fade into memory, so that he doesn't haunt me. I'd rather the monsters in my nightmares remain faceless."

"Maybe we can be scared together, then," he said. He held one hand up by his chest, his elbow on the cushion beside him. "Better to face your demons with someone by your side, isn't it?"

She stared at his waiting hand but didn't move.

Something else was inside of her. Something deep that she hadn't ever quite voiced. The reason behind her feeling so scared, anxious, and out of control. Something that she felt that she had to tell him not just for clarity's sake, but for her own.

"I feel so small," she whispered.

"I know," he said, his voice just as quiet. "Because I know what that feels like. I know what it feels like to try to fit into a mold that isn't your size. To be the person everyone else wants you to be, when you just want to be yourself."

"You do?"

"I do. I—during the—when I was . . ." He trailed off.

Hermione gave him a confused look. What was he trying to say? When what? During what?

"Draco?"

He closed his eyes for a second and swallowed. She saw his throat bob.

It was obvious that he was hiding something.

"I know what it's like to feel out of control," he said. "And I think that's part of the reason why I was so cruel, and what led me down the path to the Dark Lord. When Potter finally killed him, it was the first time I felt like I finally had some sort of control back. Even when I was in Azkaban before Eighth Year began, I still felt more in control of my body than I had since Third Year. I vowed to do better this year, just to show gratitude to the Fates for letting me have that control back.

"And I know that you've spent every day since you met me trying to prove to everyone that you're not too small to have worth. But the reason why I treated you so horribly was because I was envious of the fact that you had more self-worth in your little finger than I did in my entire body. You don't need to prove anything to anyone anymore, especially not to me.

"You're small. Your heart, mind, and spirit are big, but you? You are small, Hermione. And that's _okay_. So, I'll take up the extra space, and we'll get through all of this. The trial, school, everything. Together."

 _Together_.

His words sunk down into the depths of her psyche, settling in and digging their hooks in. In that moment, Hermione knew that she was his. No matter if he wanted her or not—she was his.

He hadn't exactly given her a declaration of love, nor a promise of a relationship. But he'd given her something insurmountably good.

Hope.

He lifted his hand again.

"Okay," Hermione said, slowly placing her palm flat against his. The moment their skin touched, her heart swelled until it was as big as she was small. "Together."


	19. Chapter 19

** Small **

** Chapter Nineteen – Chaos **

O

**April 5** **th** **, 1999**

Hermione woke not to the discomfort of couch cushions, but to the cloudlike comfort of her mattress.

It was still dark, which was good given that the first day of the trial was today and she'd forgotten to set her wand alarm. Beside her, Draco was asleep shirtless on his stomach, with his arms hugged around one of her pillows. His hair had fallen into his eyes and he looked troubled. She wasn't sure if that was just how he slept, or if he was having a bad dream.

It was quite comical to see the tall, gangly Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater laying comfortable in a bedroom bedecked in pink.

Hermione sat up, lifting her arms above her body so she could stretch. She glanced at her analog clock. It was six-thirty in the morning. The trial was at nine, so that left her a good amount of time to grow accustomed to being awake with so little sleep. She pulled the covers aside and clambered out of the bed, padding softly to the kitchen to make a cup of espresso.

Her body ached, but in the right sort of way. A way that it had never ached before. She couldn't believe she'd hooked up with Draco. _Really_ hooked up with him—the way Romilda had. That put her at least on the same level as her.

Though, Hermione didn't _want_ to be on the same level as her. She wanted to be different. She wanted to be the one who made him swear off hook-ups for good.

As she waited for the coffee to brew, the telltale signs of her concern began to set in. She chewed her lower lip until it started to hurt.

What if it meant nothing to him? What if she was on the same level as Romilda and meant nothing more than that to him? Last night had felt so intense, and their conversation afterward so deep, but what if Draco was just the sort of boy to go with the flow like that? Hermione had seen them on the telly—boys who slept with girls and snogged them, took them on dates and introduced them to their parents, only to say they never wanted a relationship in the first place. Boys who wanted the rewards without any of the effort.

Was Draco like that?

Hermione felt her stomach churning and she hugged herself. The anxiety was unbearable. The nerves were overwhelming. Her eyes stung.

She hated how much she liked him. It made her vulnerable. But there was no way she could have hid herself away from him last night. Not with how inexperienced she was when it came to men—not when she was a hopeless romantic who believed every time counted.

He'd told her he liked her and that he wanted it to be enough, but Hermione wasn't so sure it was.

She should have told him it wasn't.

"Hey."

Hermione jolted, whirling around in the dark kitchen to see Draco standing there. He gave her a lopsided grin, his fist rubbing at one eye.

"Making tea?"

"Oh," she said, trying to hide the anxious tremble of her hands by sweeping them both through her messy hair to put it to rights again. "No, I'm making espresso. Do you want a cuppa?"

"Espresso?" He walked towards her, surprising her by wrapping his arms around her and dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "Can't say I've ever had the chance to try it, so I wouldn't know how I like it prepared."

She turned around in his arms as the coffee machine beeped to signal it was done brewing. She tried to move to grab two mugs, but he wouldn't let her go, so she used wandless magic to float a couple of mugs down to the counter before her. She poured the espresso as he pulled her hair to the side, exposing her throat.

"Do you like your drinks bitter or sweet?" she asked, unable to stop the giggle that escaped her when he tickled her ear with his lips. "Draco!"

"You know I like how sweet you are," he said.

Her cheeks heated as she recalled their encounter in the Library.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, kissing her cheek again. His fingernails grazed her scalp, and her eyelids fluttered because it felt nice.

"Fine," she said, pulling away from him to go to the fridge and cupboard respectively. She gathered the milk, creamer, and sugar, and returned. "You?"

"I'm good," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his tone. His hands went to her hips and he resumed kissing her neck the moment she was in front of him again. "Are you nervous for today?"

Hermione didn't know why, but this entire conversation felt unsettling. She was so used to speaking in circles with him, watching him stray off the path of understanding to make everything a convoluted, sarcastic joke. And here he was, speaking to her as normally as though they were a couple.

It didn't help that his lips were lighting flames on her skin.

"As nervous as can be expected," she said as she prepared her drink. She liked them sweet, too, so she did the same for his as she did hers. "I'm not looking forward to being in the same vicinity as him again, though."

"He's not gonna win," Draco said between kisses. She felt him pulling aside the collar of her shirt so he could kiss her shoulder. "The proof is in the fact that I found you in the well. You didn't throw _yourself_ in."

"No, I did not," she agreed.

"I mean, the Wizengamot is a sham, the way they choose their verdicts according to their own opinions, but this time, it counts."

"Every time counts," she said before taking a sip of her espresso.

"So, let's make this time count," he growled, and then his lips were suckling at the flesh at the base of her neck.

Draco's hands roamed up beneath her pyjama shirt. His palms covered her bare breasts, fingers pinching and rolling, and she couldn't stop her head from falling back against his shoulder. Every time he touched her, it made her stomach curl the same way it did when she was anxious, but with none of the negativity.

"Do we—" She cut herself off to gasp when his teeth scraped her pulse at the same time that his gently-pinching fingers caressed the peaks of her breasts. "Do we have enough time?"

"Mmhm," he hummed. "Do you want there to be enough time?"

Hermione whimpered. "Yes."

She was so weak when it came to him.

Suddenly, one of his hands was around her throat from behind while the other was slipping into the front of her knickers. She cried out from the sheer intensity of it, her hands gripping the counter as he played with her body as though it belonged to him. The quiet in the kitchen was broken by the sounds of Hermione's moans and Draco's harsh, panting breath, a lewd contrast that made her shiver.

"So fucking wet. _Salazar_ ," he groaned when his finger slipped inside her, sinking deep into her body and probing in a way that spoke to his experience. Each movement had her shuddering, the involuntary movement intensifying the experience. "Fuck. _Fuck,_ can I do whatever I want?"

Hermione nodded, her nerves endings alight.

"Yes. Y-You can do— _Ah!"_

Without warning, the position changed.

Draco shoved her forward with his palm flat on the center of her back, pressing her into the cold counter right beside the coffee cups. His fingers found her core from the back, sliding past the crotch of her knickers so they could sink inside of her body again and again. Hermione rose to the tips of her toes so she could feel him hit the spot only he seemed to have been able to find.

All prior thoughts she'd had of her anxiety had dissipated. There was only him.

And then he sank to his knees.

Hermione lost herself to the sensations of his mouth tasting her. It felt different this way, from the back—almost too intense. If she could have, she would have dug her fingernails into the counter.

"Tell me," he breathed into her core between flicks of his tongue against her pearl. "Tell me when you're gonna come."

Hermione could only whine in response as she ground her hips downward. She wanted to spread her legs wider, but his hands were gripping the fleshy parts of her outer thighs, keeping her trapped. The juxtaposition of being contained with such force and the gentleness of his tongue dragged her up to the heights of galaxies that spun just for her.

"Draco," she moaned, her hair a complete mess as it fell into her face. "Draco, I'm gonna come."

"Are you?" He sounded like he was grinning. He sucked at her. "Already?"

She whined again. "Don't—Don't m-make fun of m-me."

"I'm not making fun of you," he purred, and then he gave her pearl another broad, flat lick. She felt her body teetering on the edge. Just one more. Just a little something extra. "I'm proud of you. You're such a good _fucking_ girl. Now, come."

It was the praise. It had to be.

She came on his tongue with a sudden violence, flattening her entire upper body onto the counter as the sensations sent her hurtling through the space-time continuum and into a completely different dimension. She slapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle the sounds of her screams, as though the neighbors might hear in the flat next door.

Hermione didn't know what had come over her, but she knew that she didn't want it to end here. Not when she felt so close to him, yet so far away. She wanted to feel him inside of her again, just like last night. She wanted to feel the things that no one had helped her feel before. No one except him.

"I want you to—" She squeezed her eyes shut as her nerves got the best of her. "Draco, I—"

"What, sweet girl?" he asked, voice hoarse. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, I want you to . . ." Hermione closed her eyes against the nervousness. "I want you to f-fuck me."

There was a second of silence, and then he rose to his feet. Hermione's heart pounded, but she didn't push herself up to standing.

"Hold your knickers aside," he growled. "Show me how you want me to fuck you."

Hermione's cheeks flared with warmth. He'd never spoken to her this way before—never this dirty. Not that she'd hooked up with him enough to know the way he might like to speak, but there was something different about it. Something forbidden. Something that made her feel special.

With one hand, she reached back and held her knickers aside, feeling her own fingertips slicking through her arousal from her earlier orgasm. Her earlier one, which was still aching through her sensitive muscles.

"Yeah?" he groaned, and she heard the rustle of his clothes, felt the tip of him at her entrance. "You want me to fuck you right here over the counter?"

She nodded, saying _yes_ repeatedly, even as she felt his length slamming into her small frame to the hilt. She knocked one of the coffee cups into the sink by accident but paid it no mind. Every jerk forward of his hips brought him deeper, hitting a spot inside of her that felt alien and so, so right. Her thighs quivered.

He went harder. Her hand slipped, nearly making her knickers snap back into place, but he covered her fingers with his own to help her, even managing to hold her core open wider. His other hand left her hip and found its way into her curls.

"Can I pull your hair?" he asked, sounding needy.

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice.

He did, using it as an anchor while he rammed into her body as though it were made for him. Every time his skin met hers, she felt her eyes rolling. It felt good. Too good. Amazing. It reverberated through her body and sent pleasure tearing through her nerves and shredding her anxiety into pieces.

The moment it was gone, she wailed with ecstasy because this was _everything_.

"Touch yourself," he pleaded, his fingers digging craters into her hips as he fucked her. "Make yourself fucking come on my cock. Come on, come on, come on."

Hermione was quick to do as he said, her mind ricocheting from star to star in the sky. She touched herself the way she liked, until she felt herself reaching her second release for the morning. Her muscles seized and she felt herself clamping down around him, clenching him inside of her as deep as he could go.

It pulled a whimper out of him.

Draco's hands tightened in her hair, pulling until it bordered on sore as he slammed into her so hard and fast that she couldn't breathe.

"You're so fucking good," he groaned in desperation, his teeth clenched. "So, so fucking sweet. So— _fuck,_ I'm coming. I'm gonna—"

He let out a low moan and dragged himself out of her body. She felt him coming on her back, soaking her shirt. Normally, she might feel revolted by something like that, or at the very least, uncomfortable with it. But for some reason, she didn't. In fact, she liked it.

She was as good as his.

"Are you okay?" he asked from behind her as he put himself to rights again. His fingers swept her damp hair off of her sweaty neck and to one side of her head. He kissed the back of her neck, and she shivered again. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm not hurt, and I'm completely fine," she said through an almost mischievous smile.

That was . . . Different than anything she'd ever experienced before. Different but not frightening. It was oddly relaxing and—for the first time—she hadn't really been able to keep hold on her anxiety. She hadn't needed to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on the climax so she didn't lose it, and it hadn't hurt. He'd been rough, but it felt good. _Very_ good.

There was a difference between sleeping with someone and fucking them, and Hermione wondered if she preferred the latter.

"We'd better get going," she said, breathless and legs shaking. She felt the shirt sticking to her back and quickly took it off. Then, she turned to face him and saw him smirking down at her. "Or we're going to be late."

He bent down to kiss her on the lips, and then took the shirt from her. He dropped it onto the otherwise pristine floor and then, before she realized what was happening, he'd leaned down to wrap his arms around her thighs and hoist her into the air. She let out a playful shriek as he carried her to the loo for a shower.

A very eventful one.

* * *

Hermione felt Draco's hand slipping out of hers the moment they entered the Ministry.

She was dismayed, but unsurprised. They were greeted by what felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes and a multitude of flashbulbs going off. Voices clamored, questions about the circumstances of the trial and the events leading up to it being hurled from the left and the right. They stood in a shocked stupor in front of the Floo they'd just stepped out of.

"Dear Godric," Hermione breathed as her lungs immediately began to spasm.

"Let's just go," Draco said, placing a hand on her lower back to guide her to the left, towards the lift. Though it was Pureblood custom to guide a witch this way, Hermione still felt the heat of his fingertips searing through to her bare skin as though they were still curled up together on her couch.

Behind them, one loud, nasally voice stood out. It reached toward them like the claws of a monster.

Rita Skeeter.

"Is there a reason why the two of you came to the trial together?" she screeched, her heels _clack_ ing against the stone floor as she trotted after them. "Come, the people of wizarding Britain want to know if this trial is the result of a disgruntled love affair involving Sebastien Selwyn, Draco Malfoy, and Hoemione— _er_ —Hermione Granger!"

Hermione nearly whirled on her, old flames of rage igniting in her chest, but Draco pushed hard enough on her back to keep her on track. She was fortunate her limp hadn't yet returned.

That would have made quite the photo if she'd tripped.

"First rule of dealing with the press," Draco murmured as they joined the small crowd of Ministry officials waiting for the lifts. The reporters were held back by wards near the boundary. "Ignore them if they're trying to play dirty."

She looked up at him, studying his face. It was difficult to keep herself from wanting to ogle him openly, especially given the fact that his facial expressions from last night were burned into her memory. She wondered what he'd looked like this morning when he was inside of her.

"I hate her," she hissed. "You don't understand the depths of my hatred for that woman."

His fingers twitched against her back, just as his lips twitched upward. "Maybe you can show me later, _Hoemione_."

Hermione coughed and started to reply, but the bells for the lifts rang. Several sets of doors slid open, and the crowd began to disperse into the lifts. They filed onto one, moving to the far right wall to prepare for the long trip down.

In the lift, they got a fair few looks, but none from anyone that Hermione recognized. She was glad for that, especially given that she wasn't quite sure how Ron and Harry were going to interact with Draco. It was clear that she and Draco had a friendship, but what if Harry or Ron accidentally saw them holding hands or exchanging some form of touch?

If the Wizengamot thought there was any form of a relationship between them, it would most assuredly affect the trial. She knew that via common sense.

And yet Draco didn't seem to think that mattered. Not here in the lift, at least, where his hand was trailing up and down her spine in a way that seemed meant to calm her. When she glanced up at him, he had a brooding expression on his face, like he was so lost in thought that he didn't even realize that he was touching her.

She didn't mind it. It was soothing. Grounding in the way it relaxed her lungs and made her feel less alone. Because she wasn't alone anymore, not like when she'd been lying in the bottom of that well. She had someone in her corner.

Hermione glanced around, ensuring no one was looking in their direction, and then she rested her forehead against his chest. It was a solid comfort for her, knowing that she was going to have to relive everything today. The Wizengamot were sure to ask her to give her memories over for inspection. Which she was okay with, knowing that it would help put Sebastien away in a cell. But she knew what it would entail.

Not only would she be reliving them, but she'd be _watching_ them in a room full of people. She'd have to watch herself being attacked, dragged kicking and screaming for a mile into the woods, and thrown down into the darkness. She'd have to watch her ordeal in the well through her eyes, to listen to herself sobbing and crying out for help. To watch that circle of stars that haunted her even now, weeks later.

She reached the hand of hers that was hidden by the wall up to the lapel of his grey blazer and wrapped her fingers around it, trying to steady her breathing.

Draco's hand slid from her back to her waist, and then up to cup the back of her head. He pressed her more firmly against him, a silent offer of his support. He didn't need to say anything for her to know he was there. The risk of other people seeing or hearing was too great, because they would just go straight to the press.

He did it anyway.

Dropping his head by her ear, he murmured, "Just remember to breathe. I'll be there the entire time."

Hermione nodded, glad that her hair was swept back into a low ponytail today. She didn't need her mood causing it to get frizzy.

When their lift finally emptied, they realized they were the only people traveling to the next floor—their final stop. As it lurched to a start, Hermione felt Draco's hands suddenly cupping her cheeks and pulling her face up to look at his. He didn't say anything as he searched her eyes and then he swept down to lay a soft kiss upon her lips.

It felt different.

Her stomach curled into a tight, twisting coil. She felt the heat of his mouth against hers, like a soothing balm to a burn on her skin. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, remembering back to all the hurdles and obstacles that they'd had to leap over to get to this point, and she couldn't help but think about Romilda. About Romilda and all the other girls he'd hooked up with.

Was Hermione any different?

If so, why?

What if this was just an extended Easter holiday hook-up for him? What if he was only here because it was something to do? What if none of this meant anything to him and she'd just given him exactly what he wanted from every witch?

She knew that last night meant more to her than it did to him. It didn't make sense any other way.

" _Can I kiss you?"_

She cringed as the memory of his rejection slammed into her, and it caused her to pull her lips away from him.

"Sorry," she said on a huff of panting breath. "I think—"

"Shut up," he growled, and he dragged her against him again.

He turned his head, his tongue slipping into her mouth to pull hers into a dance with his. This kiss was still different, but not so different that she couldn't figure out its meaning. He was trying to tell her something—something that left no room for doubt.

When he pulled away, it was because the lift shuddered to a stop.

"I'm here for _you,"_ he said as the doors slid open. He quickly let go of her, as the hallway was quite full of people who were there to watch the proceedings. "No matter what happens during this trial—you and I both know what he did to you, and I'm gonna be there no matter what."

As sweet as his words were, she couldn't help but feel alarmed.

Did he think they wouldn't win?

* * *

"Please present your memories to Mr. Caldwell, Miss Granger."

Hermione leaned over the podium, presenting her temple for Mr. Caldwell, a Pensieve Marshall to place the tip of his wand against. She closed her eyes and pulled up all of her memories of Valentine's Day, including the day after for good measure. She felt the tip of his wand dragging away from her, dragging out multiple memories at once like glittering pieces of spider webbing. When they were gone and placed into the golden chalice to be charmed to project above it, she felt herself taking a deep breath.

So far, so good.

Percy Weasley was the court scribe, sitting to the far right of the Wizengamot and typing on an old Muggle typewriter. Hermione had already overcome her surprise at the Ministry's upgrade. The Wizengamot was made up of an assortment of five people—Purebloods, Halfbloods, and Muggleborns that she knew the names of, but was too anxious to think about. Minister Shacklebolt was front and center and even though he kept giving her a personable look that she recognized from her time spent with the Order of Phoenix, it did nothing to assuage her newly-founded fears that everything was going to go wrong.

Sebastien was present, but his cage was situated to the left and slightly behind her. She'd managed not to send a glance in his direction the entire morning, and it had already been a couple of hours of questioning.

She wasn't sure how things were going in regards to the possible outcome. The members of the Wizengamot were stone-faced and emotionless when they asked questions. So far, it seemed like they truly just wanted to know her account of the incidents, and they'd each took their own notes as she recounted them. She couldn't tell if any leaned more towards her side or Sebastien's, but she was sure she'd know by tomorrow when it was Sebastien's turn to present his side.

"The memories are ready for projection, Minister," Mr. Caldwell said, his long brown hair flowing in waves to his hips. He held his wand aloft. "At your permission."

Kingsley gave an elegant wave of his hand. "At your leisure, Caldwell."

The brunette wizard, older than Hermione by a couple of decades, turned and waved his wand. The memories began to play in a hazy screen of smoke in the air above the Pensieve, all while Caldwell kept his wand trained upon it. Everyone in the room watched in silence, including the audience of spectators that had been permitted to watch in the benches above.

Hermione saw the cobblestones of Hogsmeade coming into view, heard Sebastien's snarling, and she felt like she was going to faint. She didn't want to watch, yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. Watching her own weakness with everyone else passing judgment, and so soon after the war that _she'd_ helped to end?

It was humiliating.

She felt her chin trembling, but she maintained her decorum as best she could. She could feel everyone's gazes on her, smoldering her and threatening to set her aflame. Mortification made her legs shake so violently that she had to grip the sides of the podium for support.

If only Draco could stand behind her. She felt so small without him.

The doors creaked open.

Hermione glanced behind herself and saw with a leap of her heart that Harry and Ron had arrived. They were creeping along the benches, where they took seats next to Draco. The three boys exchanged withering glances, but they didn't speak.

The four teens' eyes found one another. Each boy had a decidedly different expression. Harry, with a look of compassionate sympathy pulling his brow into a furrow. Ron, with a face that tugged down into a frown. Draco, with his silver eyes staring so intently down at her that she couldn't tell if he was angry at her or for her.

Each expression helped thread strength into her veins.

She turned back to face her nightmare, lifted her chin, and refused to give Sebastien the satisfaction of knowing he'd won any measure of power over her fear.

When the memories got to the moment in the Great Hall when Draco had attacked Sebastien, there were more than a few gasps. Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes facing forward. Looking back to see Harry and Ron's reactions would only distract her. She needed to stay focused.

The memories ended almost abruptly and Mr. Caldwell returned them to Hermione. When she felt complete again, she looked up at her jury.

Kingsley was the first to speak.

"First, I want to thank you for your openness and honesty. Having to watch those memories was likely difficult for you, Hermione. I want you to know this court does appreciate that."

"Of course, sir," she said after clearing her throat.

"Now, I think we all have questions for you after watching those memories. We'd just like to kind-of," he waved a hand, "dig deeper and compare your earlier statements to the memories of what happened. This way, we can make sure we have the full scope of your account before tomorrow. After we ask our questions, the witness for the prosecution will be called to the stand, and then we'll adjourn for the day. Is this something you agree and consent to?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. We'll start at the left, with Mrs. Yamaguchi." Kingsley gestured to the elderly witch at the end of the five-person group of Wizengamot members that had been pulled for this trial.

"Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt," Yamaguchi said. She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and looked down at her parchment. "Miss Granger, I'd like to start by skipping a bit ahead, into the duel. By your earlier account—and as evidenced in your memories—you did not cast any Unforgivables, correct?"

"That's correct, Mrs. Yamaguchi," Hermione answered.

The look on her face was shrewd, but there was a warmth in her eyes when she looked at her. Definitely a Ravenclaw—Hermione could tell. She was also a Pureblood witch, from the elegance with which she held her quill and the rigidity of her straight back.

"As we saw, your perception is that he was the first to attack, and that he cast the Cruciatus on you."

"It's not my perception," she said, her voice shaking. "It's what happened."

"Hm." Yamaguchi scrutinized her. "Miss Granger, what did you mean when you told Sebastien you would 'make good on your promise'? What promise was that?"

Hermione's chest seized. She'd forgotten to show memories of their first encounter in the corridor. Was this going to ruin everything?

"Sebastien and I had encountered each other in the corridor at school before this instance, as well as had a negative experience in class. During both of these experiences, he was threatening and made me feel unsafe. I essentially promised if he didn't leave me alone, I would curse him."

Yamaguchi arched one dark eyebrow. "An Unforgivable?"

"N-no!" Hermione cried, and then she lowered her voice. "No. I just said I'd fill him with—with sand."

"Ah. I see. But you _did_ cast an illegal spell during the duel, did you not?"

Hermione racked her brain as fast as though she were shuffling a deck of cards. Yamaguchi's questions were bouncing around, nonlinear. "No. I mean—I—"

" _Sectumsempra_ is an illegal spell, Miss Granger."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's neither legal nor legal."

"It is not a registered hex, curse, or jinx."

"That doesn't make it illegal," she spluttered.

"Are you questioning _me_ on what's legal?" Yamaguchi raised her voice. "I was not aware you studied wizarding law for eight years like I did."

Hermione clenched her teeth. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Mrs. Yama—" Kingsley sighed and shot Yamaguchi a look. "Mako. Don't be so hard on the girl. She didn't know."

Yamaguchi gave him a prim look. "That will be all."

Kingsley shook his head and gestured to the witch sitting beside her—a younger woman with a long blonde braid and kind blue eyes. Definitely a Hufflepuff. Half-blood. She held herself in a relaxed manner, but did everything with magic. Writing with a self-moving quill, dipping that quill into the ink without touching it, hovering her parchment in front of her.

"Miss Garcia. You may proceed next."

Miss Garcia thanked the Minister and then looked at her floating parchment.

"All right, let's see here . . . Hermione—oops—I mean Miss Granger . . . Why don't you tell me how it felt to be dragged through the woods all that way and forced down into that well, where Mr. Selwyn left you to die in the cold overnight?"

"Isn't that a leading question, sir?" a voice came from in Sebastien's direction—his Law Auror. He sounded almost bored.

"It speaks to the victim's state of mind," Miss Garcia said, her smile never faltering.

"I'll allow it," Kingsley said.

"Of course you will," Sebastien's lawyer said.

Hermione almost turned around, stopping herself before she gave herself fresh fodder for her nightmares. She herself didn't have a lawyer, knowing that there was no one better to fight for her other than herself. No one who could tell her story better than her.

The shock in the room was palpable. Kingsley looked borderline enraged.

"Mr. Frierson, I'm not sure how they practice law in MACUSA court, but here at the Ministry of Magic, the prosecution gets the floor for the entirety of the first day of the trial. Defense goes on day two. You will have the floor tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"No problem," Mr. Frierson said, and Hermione could hear the smirk in his tone. She really wanted to turn around.

Sebastien had an American Law Auror?

Was that good or bad?

" _Without_ sarcasm," Kingsley added.

"I'll do my best."

Hermione had to close her eyes to keep from turning to look at him.

"Hermione, go ahead and answer the question for Miss Garcia," Kingsley said.

"Okay." Hermione sucked in her breath, fighting past the nausea of her anxiety to speak. "At first, I saw it like any other duel—just like during the Battle of Hogwarts. Fight to win. But then, when he _crucio_ ed me, all I could think about was how badly it hurt, given the last time I endured the Cruciatus. He broke my wand after that, and that's when I knew I was fighting to survive. I . . ." The dragging. The rustling of the leaves. The cold. She didn't want to think about this. "Sorry, I'm just a little . . ."

"Take your time," Miss Garcia said. "It's all right."

After a moment, Hermione went on.

"I was really, _really_ scared. I knew no one was going to know where I'd gone because I was supposed to be walking back to the castle. The woods is massive—I didn't think anyone would find me. I know I was supposed to be brave, but . . . I'm just a girl." Hermione's voice trembled again, and her fingers clenched tighter around the podium's edges. "I was being thrown down into the ground. I was being buried alive, screaming where no one could hear me. I screamed for what felt like hours and hours and hours. It was so cold, and just . . .

"Now, I can hardly function without forgetting how to breathe. I have anxiety that I barely have a grasp on. If it weren't for Draco, I don't think I'd be able to make it to class some days. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be alive, if we want to get technical. But I digress.

"Bottom line is this: I felt terrified and so sure that I was going to die, but I didn't give up. Whenever I mustered up the energy, I tried to call for help. I thought about my friends and how things weren't going well with them, and how disappointed they would be. I thought about my parents, too."

_And I thought about Draco._

But she wasn't going to say that aloud in court.

"What was it like in the well?" Miss Garcia said, her smile having become replaced by a look of empathetic horror.

"It was cold. Freezing cold." Hermione hugged her arms around herself. "My magical core fought to keep me warm, but it lost. And there were bugs everywhere, crawling around me and under me. Biting me. It felt like they were waiting for me to die. When Sebastien first pushed me, I landed in all the branches and one stabbed me through the thigh so deep that I have a limp now. It's not permanent, according to Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts, but sometimes I worry it will be. But overall, it was lonely. I thought I was going to die there without anyone ever knowing what happened to me. That's what terrified me most of all."

Hermione shifted from one foot to the other. Her medicinal potion worked, but standing for so long was starting to make her leg ache. She could tell Miss Garcia was much nicer than Mrs. Yamaguchi, and she seemed to be on Hermione's side.

"Thank you _very_ much for sharing that difficult ordeal with us, Hermione," Miss Garcia said. "That's all the questions I have for you. Thank you again."

Hermione nodded.

"My turn!" a burly man to the right of Kingsley barked. He was bald, wore a top hat and purple robes, and had a grey handlebar mustache that stretched from one cheek to the other. He was Pureblood and Slytherin—that was clear by the way he looked at Hermione with disdain.

"Go ahead, Mr. Bingley," Kingsley said, sounding annoyed.

"Thank you, sah," Mr. Bingley spat out, shuffling his parchment. "First of all, I'd like to express my utmost gratitude to Mr. Malfoy. Excellent work. Jolly good show, stepping in like that. Many people overlook the heroic proclivities of Slytherin House. If I could award you points, I would. You see, I was a Prefect when—"

"Mr. Bingley," Kingsley cut in, warning him.

He spluttered as he cleared his throat. "Yes. My apologies. I got distracted. Now, Miss Grangah, I would like to know _post-haste_ why you did not share the information with us initially that you had encountered Mr. Selwyn before this incident. Why did you not say anything before? The situation could have made more sense if you had! If you ask me, it seems like you fabricated the entire bally situation!"

A rippling murmur spread through the assembled spectators. Hermione's jaw hung open.

"I didn't fabricate _anything_ , sir!" she cried. "That's not— _what_?"

Mr. Bingley raised his bushy eyebrows. "Perhaps not your memories or your perception of the incident, howevah your insistence that he threatened you is _hahdly_ believable, if I do say so myself! The Selwyn family may have thrown in their lots with the Dark Lord, but the family is reputable! I highly doubt Sebastien would lower himself to even _speak_ to a Mu—" He cut himself off with a series of violent coughs and then said, "I would just like to know why—if it's true—you didn't share the information!"

Godric, did he have to yell _everything_?

"I did not think it relevant or pertinent to the situation we are here for," Hermione said, glaring up at the man.

" _Did not think it—?!"_ Mr. Bingley looked like he were about to explode. "All information is pertinent and relevant, Miss Grangah! This is not a Prefect meeting! This is the high court of the British Ministrah of Magic!"

Hermione had no words. This wizard was not at all what she'd expected, even in her worst anxiety-induced nightmares. She knew at this point, it was better that she just stay silent. She looked to Kingsley.

"Mr. Bingley," Kingsley said with an exasperated look. "That's enough. You asked your question and got your answer. Let's move on to Mr. Feathersby. Mr. Feathersby, did you have any questions for Miss Granger?"

Relief flooded Hermione's body. She was _not_ comfortable speaking to Mr. Bingley. It was painfully clear he was going to find in Sebastien's favour, no matter what happened. She could only hope he didn't end up being the tie-breaker vote in the verdict.

Mr. Feathersby, a nondescript man with sandy hair and light eyes—no doubt a Muggle-born Hufflepuff with the way he was looking down at her—glanced at his parchment and then at her. His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"Do you feel your threat to fill him with sand provoked him to attack you?"

Hermione felt her rage rising and she opened her mouth to speak, but a voice coming from behind her cut her off.

" _Have you gone bloody mental?!"_

Ron.

"Excuse you, Mr. Weasley?!" Kingsley looked livid. "This is a Wizengamot trial!"

" _I don't give a flying fuck!"_ Ron roared. "She didn't provoke her own attack! The tosser tried to _murder_ her! He _crucio_ ed her, and you're saying she deserved it?! What sort of—"

Hermione turned to see Harry tugging on Ron's wrist, trying to drag him back down to sit. He looked beleaguered but unsurprised. Draco, on the other hand, was staring up at Ron in wide-eyed incredulity.

How mortifying.

"Ronald!" she hissed, glowering at him in desperation. " _Sit down_!"

"Ministah Shacklebolt!" Mr. Bingley bellowed, hopping to his feet. He pointed at the door. "You can't possibly call this sham a trial! Get him out!"

Oh, _Godric,_ this was a complete nightmare.

Hermione felt her arms and hands trembling, her legs unsteady. Her lungs spasmed again and again, keeping her from getting a deep breath in. She was having trouble breathing—worse than before. She was lightheaded now, holding the podium to keep herself from keeling over. Her eyes squeezed shut, fighting the dizziness and desire to pass out.

_Why, Ron? Why, why why?_

He was still yelling, this time at the Aurors who were trying to remove him from the courtroom. The spectators were in a frenzy, everyone talking over one another. Harry was trying to placate the Aurors. Draco was laughing. Hermione didn't blame him.

This was _absurd_.

"Remove him from my sight, sah!" Mr. Bingley roared. "Remove him! _Remove him_!"

" _ENOUGH_!" Kingsley was on his feet, his wand tip held to his throat to amplify his voice. He glared at the entire assembly, settling on Mr. Bingley last. "Charles Bingley, sit your arse down! You smell of beans! Mr. Weasley, shut your mouth before I silence you! Mr. Malfoy, laugh one more time, and I'm sending you to Azkaban for the night—don't think I'm playing. Mr. Potter—Well, you're all right. Everyone else needs to _shut up_ immediately. _Immediately!"_

The silence after he chastised them seemed to ring.

"Thank you," Kingsley said, and then he shook the sleeves of his robes out. With one last sweeping glare, he took his seat. "God _damn_. Mr. Feathersby, you may ask your questions."

"Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt. But I only need her to answer the one."

"I'm aged. This job has _aged_ me." Kingsley sighed. "Right. Yes. Hermione?"

Hermione gave him a meek smile. "Sebastien disliked me long before I warned him away from me. When he first approached me in the hallway, the nature of our conversation heavily implied that he harbored ill will towards me. I threatened him for fear of my own safety. So yes, I provoked him to anger. But he is his own person, and he makes his own choices. He chose to attack me."

Mr. Feathersby gave her a curt nod.

"Last question before we call your witness to the podium," Kingsley said. "Why would Mr. Draco Malfoy tell Mr. Selwyn he was going to 'slit his throat'?"

"I don't know anything about that," Hermione said honestly. "I just know that Sebastien said it to me during our duel."

"Can you think of any reason why he would threaten him? Any reason at all?"

_Now, maybe. At the time? No._

But she couldn't risk anyone finding out about their relationship while the trial was underway. Not when it could get into the press and affect the outcome.

"No, sir," she said, maintaining eye contact even though she was breathless. "No reason at all."

"All right, you may be seated."

Hermione turned and made her way to the steps, climbing them into the silent benches. She managed to shoot a quick glance in Draco's direction, hoping he could see how worried she was about the way things were going. To say this was a disaster would be an understatement.

Draco met her gaze, but his face was blank. Either he was being careful, or he was nervous about Kingsley's threat. She wished she could tell him he was likely just saying that, but there was no time. Draco had already stood up to walk past her to the stairs. The boys let him pass, and Hermione felt his hand brushing her hip as he went by, as she hadn't yet sat down.

A jolt of electricity cracked through her body.

She plopped down beside Ron.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" he whispered. "I'm sorry about that, and sorry about the Howler. I—"

"Shh," she said, and then she squeezed his hand. "Thank you for being here."

He squeezed it back. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Hermione gave Harry a smile behind Ron's head, and then the three of them faced the Wizengamot right as Draco reached the podium.

Draco did not hunch over the podium the way Hermione did. He straightened out his blazer and made sure his hair was pushed back, standing tall with his back as straight as a Nimbus. He looked up at the Wizengamot, high up in their seats as though they were at the same height. From this vantage point, to Hermione, he looked small.

She knew he was anything but.

"State your name for the court scribe," Kingsley said as he shuffled through his parchment.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy." His tone was devoid of emotion. Matter-of-fact. He was here to do business.

He was here to fix it.

Hermione had never felt more relieved.

"And what is your role here in this courtroom today?"

"I was called as witness for the prosecution."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Please start by recounting the events of February 14th and 15th that involved you and Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione listened with bated breath as Draco launched into a full account of his Valentine's Day, including the moments where they'd exchanged chocolate. He left nothing out, and the disgruntled expression on Mrs. Yamaguchi's face at the over-explanation proved it. Hermione had to hide a smile.

He was such a prat.

"So, the next day, when I went to breakfast, I didn't see her in the Great Hall. I knew something was wrong because she never misses breakfast. I asked some of the students at the Gryffindor—"

"One moment." Mrs. Yamaguchi interrupted him. "How could you have known something was wrong?"

"She's my friend," Draco said, turning his icy gaze upon the elder witch. "I know everything I need to know about her."

"Convenient. But continue."

"Thanks." Hermione could hear his annoyance, but it was nigh undetectable to anyone else. He went on, "As I was saying, I asked some of her peers, and I was told she never returned to the common room. That's when I went looking for her. And before you ask, no—I didn't tell anyone. I just went to look for her."

He paused for a moment, his gaze washing over them all as thought daring them to challenge him on it.

"At the town gates, I saw that a sign had been broken. The pieces were lying all over the ground. Something felt off about it, so I looked around in the vicinity and saw what looked like a long furrow in the foliage on the ground leading into the woods. I followed it until I came to a well, and I called her name the entire way. I hadn't the slightest idea if she'd be out there, but something just didn't feel right. I listened to my gut."

"And then?"

"She was in the well, so I got her out."

He continued his tale, talking of all the events that led to the moment he was taken to Azkaban. Then, he stopped. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and waited with nonchalance while the members of the Wizengamot leaned in to whisper to one another.

"We've decided I will be the one to ask you questions," Kingsley said. "We've only a few, and then you can present your memories. After that, we may have more, but as you're only an eyewitness, we're just looking for confirmation. Is this am—"

"Amenable. Agreed. Consented."

Kingsley gave him a look that bordered on disapproval and then he clasped his hands in front of him on top of his parchment.

"What was the nature of yours and Miss Granger's relationship before the war?"

Draco answered without shame or missing a beat.

"I was cruel to her. I taunted her, hurled insults, and made fun at her expense. I didn't like her."

"And we're to believe you somehow became friends this year?"

"Yeah."

The members of the Wizengamot shifted. Hermione felt the eyes of the spectators on the benches behind hers boring holes into the back of her head.

"How did that occur?" Kingsley asked.

"Is it relevant?"

Kingsley's head pulled back on his shoulders. He looked like he wanted to scold him, but a quick glance up to Hermione show her that he had a feeling something else was going on.

Did he suspect anything?

"It's relevance is to ensure that your eyewitness account is as truthful as possible, Mr. Malfoy. If I can't trust that you truly have changed your feelings towards her, how can I trust your depiction of the events? How can any of us?"

Something worked in Draco's jaw, a sign to Hermione that he was agitated. Otherwise, he made no outward displays of emotion.

"We became friends while working on the Library restoration this year. When I went looking for her that morning, I was already ready to do whatever it took to help her, just like I would for any of my friends. Like I said—she was in the well. I got her out."

"Very well. Now, for the attack on Mr. Selwyn afterward. I'm aware we already went over this when we were arranging for your release back to Hogwarts, but for the purpose of this trial, can you explain why you attacked him in the Great Hall without provocation?"

"Because—as you saw in Hermione's memories—he threw her down a fucking well."

A murmur went through the room. Mr. Bingley looked down at his nails. Mrs. Yamaguchi looked horrified. Kingsley, Miss Garcia, and Mr. Feathersby appeared unsurprised but fed up. Beside her, Hermione heard Harry snickering and Ron grumbling.

"Right," Kingsley said, "but please watch your language in my courtroom, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco said nothing.

"Next question. What can you tell us about the threat you placed upon Mr. Selwyn?"

In a lazy drawl, he said, "Sir, I can't tell you unless you let me speak freely."

"Mr. Malfoy . . ."

"Sir."

Kingsley rolled his eyes. "Very well. But _only_ for direct quotations."

"In January, he harassed her in Potions class and I had to physically remove him from her. Later, I ran into him in a corridor and I told him if he ever so much as looked in her direction again, I'd slit his fucking throat." Draco's hands were still in his pockets, and Hermione's cheeks were warm. "That was a direct quotation, more or less. Sir."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing. I walked off."

"I see." There was silence, broken by the sound of Percy's typewriter. "Now, you were tasked with being Hermione's chaperone from class to class while her leg is healing, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Have there been any other lasting effects from the incident that you think we need to know about?"

"Yeah. She has panic attacks."

_Godric damn it, Draco._

Kingsley looked perturbed. "Panic attacks? She didn't mention these to us."

"Because she's embarrassed by them, and I'm the only one who knows."

"How do you know what a panic attack _is_?"

"Because I get them, too. At least, I used to."

Kingsley's brows pulled together. "Is it your impression that these panic attacks impede her daily life?"

"So much so that I have to help her through the ones I'm present for. They affect her ability to focus, as well as her breathing. I've known her for a long time, and we've been friends since December. She didn't have the attacks until _after_ I rescued her from the well."

"All right. Okay." Kingsley looked up at Hermione, whose cheeks burned with shame. "I do believe this is all the information we need from you, Draco. To Hermione, thank you so much for your courage. We'll recess until tomorrow at 10:00am, but Hermione I'd like you to come in at 9:00am and see a court-sanctioned Mind Healer. I'd like to get a proper diagnosis of these panic attacks."

He smacked his gavel down, and then the members of the Wizengamot began to bustle about. The spectators began to chat amongst themselves as they exited down the stairs. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stood and looked at one another.

"So," Harry said. "Who would have thought Draco Malfoy would save the day?"

Ron sneered. "Definitely not me."

"Why don't we speak over lunch?" Hermione suggested into the awkwardness of the moment. "I don't think this is something we should discuss here, or even in the corridor."

"Is _he_ coming with?" Ron crossed his arms and jerked his head towards the stairs, where Draco waiting at the bottom.

"Yes," Hermione said, a challenging glint in her eyes. "Is that going to be an issue?"

"Obviously," Harry said, giving Hermione a pointed look. He then clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. "But he'll do it, and so will I. Malfoy saved your life."

"And I supposed he helped today," Ron muttered.

Hermione smiled. "Then let's go get something to eat. Try not to hex each other, though, all right?"

They spoke simultaneously.

"No promises."


End file.
